Beginnings: My First Round
Meadow Lane G.C. - 18th Hole
Meadow Lane Golf Club — Indiana, PA — 2008
I remember one summer day in July when I was with my grandparents for the annual two-week dump off to give my parents a break from all my shenanigans. I would always be given a list of things we had planned, which greatly changed every year, except for one thing: my pap’s daily routine of walking nine holes at Meadow Lane Golf Club down the road. One day I got the green light to join him and that day would bring me one of the greatest joys today: golf. A little background on Meadow Lane, the course is your prototypical muni golf course. Everyone knew everyone, my uncle worked there when he was a kid and the groundskeeper that taught him was still the groundskeeper when I showed up. The pro shop was something of a time machine to what I envisioned in the late 70’s with all of that charm and walls of stories from previously club tournaments that I could only one day hope to compete in.
Back to me. We quickly drove over to the course and made our way to the driving range just off the road opposite of the clubhouse. It was amazing to think that my grandfather taught my uncle on the same driving range some thirty years ago. Golf has always been a game of tradition and I was now part of it. I quickly sprung for the driver in my pap’s bag and began trying to whack the ball as far as my 8 year-old self could. I found myself unable to even hit it off the tee. Now, walking with my pap I had always seen him effortlessly whack the ball around the course and now I could barely touch it. Head Down! Shoulders in rhythm! I will never forget those words shouted at me as we were walking to the first hole of the round. We played the Back 9 that day. #10 was a dogleg right about 330 yards on seep right-to-left incline. Trees guarded the right side as well as a forest about 220 yards at the break of the dogleg. Now unbeknownst to me I was thinking just crush that ball, those trees stood no chance. So, I stepped up and hit the ball a whopping 30 yards into the creek that was coming across the adjacent 18th hole. My pap laughed and so it began. I fell in love with the game right there. How could something look so easy from afar, but require so much patience and skill when in the moment? Why did I just want to keep hitting balls until my arms fell off? I did not know those answers just yet, but my grandfather left me with one thing on the 13th green that day I will never forget. “All games let you compete with others, but only one lets you truly know how comfortable you are with yourself: The game of golf.”