The Open

Yesterday, after a very busy Friday and Saturday, my toddler graciously allowed me to stay in bed until 8:30 AM.  After a good night’s sleep I had one goal in mind:  I went downstairs, turned on ESPN, and told myself I would watch The British Open until a winner was crowned.  At that point the leaders were still one hour from their tee times, which meant I had to convince my toddler that the downstairs TV was MINE for the next 5 hours.  Unheard of; maybe I was still dreaming.

There are 4 Sundays during the PGA season that grip me — the final rounds of each major tournament.  I’ve played golf since I was a child; my competitive days are over and now it’s purely for fun, just the way I want it to be.  In the last 2 years the game I love has taken a backseat to my sweet baby boy, but I still try to fit it into my life as much as I can.  It won’t be long before he has his own set of pint-sized clubs to swing in the back yard, and I CAN’T WAIT.

The Open is one of my favorites, this year in particular because of the talented (OK, handsome) Australian that stood atop the leader board.  4 hours of watching him play was high on my agenda.  So yesterday was a rare occasion when I pushed aside my Type-A, everything-in-its-place frame of mind and let junior go about his business.  He climbed on the dog.  He climbed on me.  He colored.  He pulled out every itty bitty toy he could find from the deep, dark corners of his toy basket.  He put books in my lap and I pretended to read them.  He ran laps between the kitchen, dining room, living room, and family room.  He got a couple of snacks.  He went upstairs and did exactly the same thing.  And I watched golf, essentially uninterrupted.  He went down for his nap and I finished The Open in a sea of toys, books, and crayons.  And when he woke up he had my undivided attention.  I think that was a totally fair trade.

I am a golfer and my husband is a soccer player.  He’s a college football fan and I’m a college basketball nut.  I always wonder what my son will take an interest in.  Will he follow in one of our footsteps or go in a completely different direction?  He has quite a cannon when he hurls bath toys in the tub, so maybe he’ll pitch or play left field.  Maybe he’ll win Wimbledon or The Masters or be an NCAA All-American in something.  Oh excuse me, an Academic All-American.  Maybe he’ll hate sports completely – who knows.  Naturally I want him to find something he loves to do and excel at it; every parent does.  I guess he’ll chart his own course as he gets older.  And maybe, just maybe, he’ll chart his course on the GOLF course, with me walking along beside him.  That would be fun, until he beats me…


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