My teenage son and I were playing golf as a thunderstorm approached.
“Mom, we should quit. The sky is really dark.”
He was playing reluctantly, and the rest of the family was a hole ahead of us. I didn’t realize until later that night that as members, we don’t get charged for each game we play. But at the time, I didn’t want to waste the game… or let him bail.
“They haven’t blown the warning siren. They must think it is going to blow over.”
Another flash of lightning.
“But it’s close, mom.”
Dark, foreboding clouds grumbled at us.
“I don’t want to be out here,” he grumbled back.
“They’ll sound the siren when it’s time to quit.” But the lightning did feel awfully close. “Just putt.”
He putt. Thunder boomed. Lightning streaked across the entire sky. His ball rolled across the green, as he raced over the hole, up the hill to the golf cart faster than I have ever seen him move.
“Mom, GET MY BALL!”
It turns out the warning siren at the Pro Shop was on the fritz.