Trip Home

So, last weekend was Easter. Easter commemorates the weekend that Jesus Christ died on the cross for humanity's sin, to "bridge the gap" (thanks Navs) between a holy God and a fallen world.

Easter also commemorates (to a lesser extent) yet another drive from Minneapolis, Minnesota to the magical land of Green Bay, Wisconsin. Just a short, four-hour stint and I was once again in the land of my birth. Stop being jealous - I know you wish you were me.

Besides the usual fishing, poker, horseback riding, James Bond-watching shinanigans I usually encounter, this trip held an activity that I haven't done in quite a few years.

Yes, I once again dragged out my teal bag and clubs, and hit the driving range. You see, my father was in the process of buying a new set of clubs, and was just trying out the last two types that he was deciding upon. He golfs alot. Here's a picture:



I, on the other hand, haven't been golfing in a really long time.



I used to golf all the time - with my father and with some high school friends. I started it out to be able to spend more time with my father. Even now I appreciate it, but have never really liked it all that much. Don't get me wrong - I'm not a terrible golfer. In fact, once upon a time I was pretty decent at it. I used to practice putting golf balls into bar glasses in my basement. Sadly, no photos exist of such phenomena.

The reason I stopped playing was that I'm not really one to go play by myself. Like I said, I did it to spend time with people, not for the fun of the sport. Occasionally, I'd go with some people. But all in all, it pretty much petered out. With no practice for several years, I did start to lose my sweet golfing skills over time.

Fast forward to about two years ago: A few people and I decided to go to a driving range in the Twin Cities. I was all geared up to get back on that bike, when something horrible happened....

One of the guys who went with us set down his clubs, took a look around, and decided to take it upon himself to "teach me the game." When I protested that I already knew what I was doing, he was unimpressed and proceeded to watch me swing and tell me everything that I was doing wrong. Quite unhappy, I haven't picked up a club until this last weekend.

How did it go, you ask? I'll let you be the judge. Here's a picture of the flag that I was trying to hit my ball over:



And here's me watching the ball fly right where I wanted it too.



I just wanted to "make the ball go" and have fun. My Dad, always content to let me look like an idiot, just played with his new toys and only offered advise when I asked for it. I missed the ball a few times, almost hit it into someone once, and whacked the green, plastic partition devider deally thing once (with one of Dad's new clubs), knocking my bucket of balls over and making a really loud noise.

Some other loud noises were heard when I hit some really great shots. That was me jumping up and down shouting "Oh yeah! Way out there... Whooooooo! That one's long gone, baby!" with my club in the air. However, I tried to keep it down when I realised that all the other people there were relatively silent while they golfed. Want to come gofing with me?