My boys’ golf teacher suggested that they were ready for the club’s junior tournament, and since they seemed excited to play, I signed them up.
I did not sleep the night before. I worried that my nine year old would get frustrated playing six holes (which he has never done). I worried that his shyness would make him miserable playing with kids he does not know. I worried that my eight year old would keep hitting to his right. I worried they would get too hot and cranky. I worried that they would not be as good as the other kids. I worried that it would make them hate golf.
So I was surprised and proud when we got out of the car the morning of the tournament, and the nine year old said, “I am feeling confident.” The eight year old said, “I want to win.” They had slept soundly.
They were playing in different age groups, but at the same time. My four year old was alone in the game room. So I raced in my flip-flops and 90-degree midday sun between their games and the game room. I have had more water today than in the last two weeks altogether.
The nine year old practically strutted as he played, chatting with one of the boys, acting like he belonged on the golf course. The eight year old smiled a lot.
The nine year old got third out of four, but he feels like he crushed it. The eight year old got sixth out of eleven. Both with respectable scores.
They hit it straight all day.
Next year, they will be in the same age group. So when they saw the beautiful trophies the first and second place winners received this year, the nine year old said, “I’m gonna win next year.” The eight year old said, “But I’m gonna beat you.”
Guess I’ll be losing sleep the night before the tournament again then.