Ohio winters are tough. Before I lived here, I lived in Tennessee, and before that North Carolina, Georgia, and Texas. So, as you can imagine, I haven’t been used to cold like this in a long time. I can feel the eyes rolling from those of you farther north than I am. And ok, I know southern Ohio isn’t the toughest place to live in America, but it’s still plenty bad.
Golf can be tough as well. Golf can be really tough, but it is oh so much more. In John Feinstein’s book, “A Good Walk Spoiled”, he follows some of golf’s top professionals and discusses their mental state from one week to the next. The message of the book can be summed up in the following statement: “One week you’ve discovered the secret of the game, and the next you never want to play it again.”
And while I agree that golf can be a frustrating and trying game, it is so much more. Some of my earliest memories are of those on a golf course. As well as some of my favorites.
Me, after calling my hole-in-one while the ball was still in the air.
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My Dad was an avid golfer, as was his Dad before him. It’s where my love for the game came from. The first year “Pops” took me out on the course, he taught me the etiquette. He showed me through both his words and actions what was expected of you when you were on the course. He showed me class when he hit a bad shot, and triumph when he stuck one close.
As a kid, the golf course was my babysitter. My Dad signed us up for a family membership at a local golf course, and so when he went to work in the morning he’d drop me off. He’d then pick me up on his way home. In the meantime, I’d loop the golf course all day long. I walked with my bag on my back and just kept going. I’d eat lunch in the clubhouse, and the old guys on the course would keep an eye on me. It wasn’t uncommon for me to play 54 holes in a single day. It was pure bliss.
Me, sleeping on the floor after a long day on the course.
My favorite part was on the weekends when the other members would come up to my Dad and tell him they ran into me out here during the past week. They’d always tell him they were impressed with my etiquette (and how far I hit the ball). My Dad would never fail to respond with “he damn well better be behaving himself” and they’d all laugh, but as soon as they’d walk away he’d tell me how proud he was of me. I’d beam with pride, and usually give the next tee shot a little extra “oomph.”
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And then there was Tiger.
No, not that Tiger, but rather, my grandpa, Jack – the same one who used to tell me those fantastical stories while sitting in his recliner. Unfortunately, he died before I ever got the pleasure to play a round of golf with him, but he was a massive influence in my life, as well as for many others in the area. I grew up in a small coal mine town in rural Illinois. Our High School mascot was a miner, and our dedicated fan base coined the Coalmine Crazies. My grandpa was the General Manager of the local mine, Monterey. He got to that position through integrity, grit, work ethic, and leadership. Jack Lehmann was nicknamed Tiger because he wasn’t one to shy away from conflict…or anything really. Still to this day when I go home for a visit, at a local bar, invariably someone will ask me if I’m Tiger Jack’s grandson. My answer in the affirmative is usually followed up by that person telling me a story about ole Tiger Jack being mad at them so they didn’t leave the house for a week. Or a story about how he got in between two guys fighting at the mine, and they both backed down. He managed firmly, but fairly, and was respected far and wide for his values. My grandpa taught my dad not only the game of golf but all of those same values. And as it goes, my father passed that same love for the game down to me, and in doing so he also took the opportunity to teach me the same values.
My Grandpa was nicknamed Tiger, but also around the same time as I began to understand that, there came along THAT Tiger. And because of the tale of two Tiger’s in my life, I have always had a Tiger headcover on my golf bag.
Then
AND…
Now. The headcover is a constant reminder of where I came from and who I want to be.
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As I got older I realized many of the etiquette rules in golf applied to everyday life.
- Don’t talk during someone else’s swing (listen while they’re speaking).
- Keep your own score, and keep it right (integrity).
- Play the ball as it lies (sometimes you get a bad break in life, but it’s what you do next that counts).
- Rake the bunker after you hit your shot (clean up after yourself).
- Fix your ball mark on the greens (respect other people and their stuff).
And most importantly, golf taught me the importance of spending quality time with someone on the course. Those Saturday and Sunday mornings when I knew we were headed to the course, I would wake up with nothing but excitement and anticipation. They were my favorite days.
They’re still my favorite days. And still, whenever I am paired with someone for a round of golf, I put my phone away and live in the moment.
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After my time in the military, golf became something else for me. It became therapeutic. It became reintegration, and most importantly, it became something familiar, something from before, something I could hold onto. It became my very own version of “walking off the war”.
When I moved to Memphis, I lived across the street from one of the oldest golf courses in America, The Links at Overton Park. Alongside hole number eight, there was a practice area where you could practice shots up to 180 yards. Regardless of the temperature (not that it got that cold in Memphis) I’d walk over and hit balls almost every morning. Not long after I started, I noticed someone else set up a few yards down from. He seemed to show up with the same fervor I had, hitting ball after ball, and watching the flight until it landed. I also noticed that he prescribed to the same mentality as I did – If it’s above freezing, you can play – so I went and introduced myself. And we immediately hit it off.
Later that week, we went to walk eighteen holes together for the first time. I am a firm believer that you can learn everything there is to know about someone over eighteen holes of golf. It exposes truths years of friendship can’t uncover, and this loop was no exception.
While you can play golf in Memphis year round, it isn’t always advised. On this particularly bitter morning (by Memphis standards) it was around forty degrees, which wouldn’t have been so bad, but then the rain started, a bitter, cold rain. As it was our first time playing together, neither of us wanted to be the one to call it quits. It was the epitome of testing each other’s “masculinity”. So we kept on.
Scott developed bilateral pneumonia. Oh, and I should also mention that Scott is the Principal Trumpet in the Memphis Symphony Orchestra. So, not good.
Scott showing integrity as he “plays it as it lies”.
But what happened that day was something more. What happened that day, whether we were aware of it or not, is we became best friends. From that moment until the present, we’ve played hundreds of rounds of golf together. We know each other’s club selection before they reach for the bag. And, he was the best man at my wedding.
When I look back over the years, I realize all that golf has given me. I am thankful for it, but it’s something more. Golf has provided a path when I was lost. It has provided guidelines for life when I was questioning my previous set of ethics. And most importantly, it has provided a way back to civilization when I didn’t think it possible.
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I mentioned earlier my best buddy, Scott, is the Principal Trumpet in the Memphis Symphony Orchestra, and recently I got the unique experience of watching him teach a Masterclass at the College-Conservatory of Music-University of Cincinnati. As I listened to him speak about playing the trumpet it dawned on me: it was just like golf. I could identify with a lot of the principles Scott was teaching to the kids in the class, even though I have no clue how to even hold a trumpet, because they are similar principles to what I’ve learned on the golf course.
The moral of the story is that no matter what your endeavor, hobby, job, or goals are, there are lessons to be taken and applied from all over the place. Keep an open mind and think outside the box. In the Rangers, when we were training on “clearing” houses, I had an instructor who told me, “Slow is smooth, and smooth is fast.” That was a mantra to stay alive in combat, but it also worked for my golf swing…and in law school…and, apparently, for the trumpet.
Inspiration can come from anywhere, as long as you’re paying attention.
#WordsThatMatter
Weekly Pursuit of Happiness
Now, as the snow and ice begin to melt, and the river starts to flood, I can finally get back to walking on a golf course. And not a moment too soon, as I have been going a little crazy this winter. Life, like a good golf swing, is all about balance, so remember slow is smooth, and smooth is fast.
And oh yeah, THAT Tiger is back.
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This post is republished on Medium.
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Feature photo credit: iStock
Other photos provided by author