Paul was in golf camp four mornings last week and will return again this coming week. He's been going now for a few years and really enjoys it. But yesterday was the first time that he asked me to go out on the golf course with him. Since I've only taken a few lessons and have never actually played a game, I was a bit nervous about the whole adventure. But the nice people at the golf club advised me to go after 5:00 when there are more beginners on the course and assured me that Paul had enough experience to keep us out of trouble.
And indeed, he did. Although he wasn't allowed to drive the golf cart, he knew all about how to work it and expertly hoisted our bags up on the back and roped them in. He knew the course, not only how each hole played, but where the water fountains were, and all about golf etiquette.
Paul could actually play to some degree, but I was hopeless. We quickly decided just to have fun and play "best ball," which meant that most of the time I put my ball wherever Paul had hit his, and then played from there. After we played eight holes we agreed to skip most of the other holes and just play three that Paul really liked.
As we made out way slowly from hole to hole, Paul told me of funny things that had happened during camp, including the time his friend's ball landed in the yard of a nearby house. At one point Paul had me stop the cart while he jumped out, ran into the woods, and retrieved a ball a camper had hit into the trees and hadn't taken the time to hunt up.
We had a great time together enjoying each other's company and I finally --after twenty five years of living next to it --got to see our neighborhood golf course.