Thank You — And Goodbye — To The Best Golf And Life Coach Ever

As he lay withering away in a hospital bed last week, my Dad and I got to watch one last golf tournament together. It was a replay of the latest Ryder Cup from Rome. We’d both seen it already. But thanks to dementia, and the programming people at the Golf Channel, he got to experience it again for the first time.

I can’t tell you how many golf tournaments we have watched together on TV. Easily thousands. He was a golfaholic. And his passion for the game was contagious.

Not sure exactly when he learned to play golf or from whom, but we are pretty sure it was in his early years. He excelled to a 2-handicap at one point. Shortly after getting married, he used to disappear every Sunday to play golf. My mom wanted to spend time with him, so she asked him to teach her. He found a hilly course in Detroit, and took her there. While he pulled his clubs on a cart, he made her carry her bag. He was trying to discourage her from homing in on his passion. But it was fruitless, because she loved playing too. As it turns out, she became an accomplished golfer on her own. And they frequently played with other couples all the way up until about 2 years ago, when he could no longer negotiate even nine full-length holes, due to his declining health.

Getting my sisters and I onto the fairways became one of his passions. He started me at age four or five. He claims that it was at a course on 7 Mile Road in Detroit that he taught me at, but I remember at some point in my childhood him taking me to North Hills Golf Course in Bloomfield Hills, Mich., a public facility back then that’s now the private North Course at the famed Oakland Hills Country Club.

He had six aces in his lifetime. Last week, he said he only remembered five of them. Either way, I was playing with him when I scored the first of my three about 14 years ago. Let me backtrack by saying he liked playing golf fast, and he instilled that trait in me. Annika Sorenstam once told me in a golf media event that I was the fastest player she has ever been on a golf course with. I told her I took that as a compliment because I’m thinking about my next shot as I’m walking up to the ball — something he ingrained in me decades ago. He was thrilled to hear that anecdote. But I digress. On this particular day, we were on the third hole at Mallory Hill Country Club in The Villages Florida, and my dad was the first to tee off on a par 3. He was upset that the people in front of us were playing slow, and after he teed off he went off to flag down the ranger to try to speed up that group. As he drove away, I took my shot, which bounced once or twice and veered right into the cup. He turned around to see my mom and I jumping and screaming, but missed the whole shot. All because of his impatience. Incredibly fitting.

He taught me literally everything I know about the game, its history, the beauty of the swing, all of the etiquette, strategy on the course, and how to think through my game. The last round we played together was about four years ago in Florida. He was so weak that he only lasted about 14 holes and then just sat from the cart to watch the rest of my round. Always helping out where I needed it. We have been to the driving range several times since, and helped each other with our swings. That time was invaluable.

Even when I saw him last week in the hospital, I was showing him without a club what my driver swing looked like now and why I think I picked up more distance. Then I simulated my putter stroke and mentioned what a pro recently told me to do, in order to sink more putts. My dad watched and offered a couple of quick enhancements to what the pro said. Again, invaluable.

He had such a passion for the game. He used to teach adult golf classes in San Diego. One student came back after his first lesson and told him he played his first round afterwards, and scored a hole in one. When he first moved to Florida, he taught golf to underprivileged children in Wildwood. He was so enthusiastic for the game, and wanted everyone to be.

He was over the moon when I switched careers from computer programming to golf writing. I told him the pay was a lot less, and he told me that I should go with my passion and the money would follow. That was back in 1990, and I never regretted the move.

My father may not be physically with us anymore. But from now on, every time I tee off, walk a fairway, and roll in a putt, I know he will be with me — reminding me to slow down my backswing, follow through at the target, and think about exactly where I need to place my next shot. And I promise I will always be prepared for my next swing, before I step up to the ball. Thank you for everything, Dad. I love you so much.