Yesterday my husband, 2 kids, and I walked 9 holes of golf. Imagine me pushing a double jogging stroller with kiddie clubs attached, Husband using a push cart for his golf clubs (which I shared but brought my own driver), all while trying to sanely play golf. The kids were troopers, and Jonah would take his turn with his clubs when the mood struck him. We won't mention the fact that it took 4 hours to walk just 9 holes.
It brought me back to my first encounter with golf with my husband. We were seniors in college, and he wanted to teach me how to play. I agreed to go to the local driving range, and he patiently tried to show me how to swing. I don't take instruction well from my husband, and I don't know why. It just irritates me sometimes. I tried to be patient and act interested with this date, so I chose do focus intently on the task at hand. He stands behind me, asking me to just take a "pretend", slowww swing. I didn't hear the "pretend" or "slow" part, and I tend to be spacey sometimes.
So, in my head, I'm thinking,"that's it. I'm gonna show you I can do this". I swing the club back slowly, keeping my eye on that little white ball, and come swinging down with a vengeance.
As I followed through on my swing, which was actually appropriate had the love of my life not been standing behind me, I heard an audible crack-thud-blunt-force-trauma kind of sound. The club had hit him right above his left temple, and blood was dripping...no, I think it was pouring down.
Here I am, almost ready to graduate nursing school, and I freeze. Blood? What the heck do I do now? Where is something to stop it? I can't take my shirt off..that would be weird. Oh yea, the clubhouse. Go to the clubhouse, tell them it's an emergency, get a towel. Clubhouse doesn't understand gravity of situation and gives me NAPKINS. A wad of dag-on napkins.
I come back to him, and he has already found a shirt in the car and is holding his head, blood seeping through. By this point, I realize we probably need to seek medical attention for stitches and who knows what else.
He refused to let me drive, even though I was just sure he would pass out behind the wheel. I had seen too many ER shows with George Clooney and Noah Wyle to not think this could not end well.
Multiple stitches later, we left the urgent care and drove home. He never once blamed me or got upset at me, although deep inside I'm sure he was starting to question if he truly wanted to marry a woman who hit him in the head with a golf club. I guess he did, because not too long thereafter, he proposed.
To this day, he still has headaches, and his hair parts differently where the scar is hidden. Yet, he still wants me to play golf with him, and I now am swallowing my pride and trying to take well-meaning instruction from him. After all, I did nearly almost kill him... The least I could do is try to perfect my swing.
This was a growing moment of epic proportions. Always look before you swing, and make a good faith effort to get back into the game, even if you aren't that great at it. Because one day, you will be walking 9 holes with your children on a cool fall day, and you will be glad you didn't give it up.
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