A Round We Didn’t Keep Score

We’ve been trying to find more time to play golf together as a family, but lately ice skating lessons and hockey practice have made that quite difficult. We have backed off some of those activities over the weekends, which has given us more time at home to squeeze in a quick round of nine holes.

Last Sunday the three of us went to Knollwood Fairways to play together. We grabbed one bucket of balls and made our way to the range to warm up. We’ve been sharing stalls lately so each person can rest and reset before their next turn, because, as Clara pointed out, “When I’m playing, I don’t always hit a ball back to back. I walk in between so I get a little rest.”

The first tee at Knollwood is my nemesis. Well, one of them, if I’m being honest. The tee box is elevated, and you have to hit over a pond and fountain to the green below. It’s a short par 3—less than 100 yards—but that water gets in my head every single time.

About 99 percent of the time, I hit my ball left. More often than not, it ends up bouncing onto the cart path or worse, landing in the water. Over the past year, as a beginner, I’ve at least graduated from hitting my driver off the first tee to using my hybrid. The problem is that the one time I really connected with my hybrid, I sent the ball sailing past the green.

So while we were warming up that day, I decided to practice hitting an iron off a tee—something I haven’t practiced in a very long time. Or possibly ever.

Clara didn’t have a good warm-up session on the range. She wasn’t hitting the ball well, and eventually she became so frustrated that she started crying. It broke my heart to see her like that, and it definitely wasn’t the way any of us had hoped to start our round.

For a minute, we weren’t sure if we should even play. But rather than calling it a day, we decided to take scoring completely off the table. We would just go out and play—using the course as another place to practice the things we would normally work on at the range. If she hit a bad shot, she could try again. There was no pressure to put a number on the day.

It became one of those “get back on the horse” moments. The range hadn’t gone the way she wanted, but that didn’t mean the rest of the afternoon had to go the same way.

As we walked over to the first tee, I spotted one available push cart and put my bag on it. I was thankful that I didn’t have to carry my bag for nine holes.

Paul was up first. He usually hits his 9-iron on this hole, and more often than not, he carries the ball past the green. This day was no exception. His tee shot sailed over the green, leaving us to wonder if maybe the 9-iron is just a little too much club for him here.

Later, I asked if he had ever thought about trying his pitching wedge instead. He wasn’t sure he could hit it far enough to reach the green, so we decided maybe the answer is somewhere in between—a three-quarter swing with his 9-iron.

Then it was my turn. The moment of truth: Was that practice on the range actually going to pay off, or was I about to shank my ball straight into the water? My nerves are always racing when I step onto a tee box, especially the first one. I took a few practice swings, put my ball on the tee, and stepped up.

It was now or never.

I swung—and somehow, it was one of the best swings I’ve ever made. The ball flew in a beautiful, straight arc over the fountain and LANDED ON THE GREEN. I had never done that before! I turned around, caught a glimpse of the smile on Paul’s face, and threw my hands up in celebration. Unfortunately, I may have now set the bar a little high for the next round.

With a few of the shorter holes behind us, we began to reach some of the longer holes on the course—the ones where, if you’re lucky enough to find the middle of the fairway, you still have quite a bit of ground to cover.

Before I hurt my elbow and spent six months recovering and going through physical therapy, I had my clubs cut down. Unfortunately, I had to wait those entire six months before I could really use them. By the time I started playing again, I was not only relearning my swing, but learning how to play with shorter clubs. In some ways, it felt like starting all over again.

I don’t hit the ball very far (yet!), so I knew pretty quickly that my hybrids were going to have to become my friends. The problem was, I hated hitting them. I would chunk the ball or catch it off the toe and send it left, and every bad shot seemed to make me dislike the club a little more.

Eventually, I decided I needed to change the way I thought about it. Instead of saying, “I hate this club,” I started telling myself, “I just haven’t learned how to use this club yet.” That’s something I’ve started sharing with Clara now that she’s struggling with her new hybrid. I understand her frustration because I’ve been there. Heck, I’m still there most days.

After a couple of mishits, Clara was starting to look a little defeated. As she took a practice swing, I noticed something different happening with her lower body. She was trying so hard to rotate that her whole body seemed to dip with the movement. We stopped for a second and talked about keeping things a little more stable and letting her shoulders turn through the swing.

Then she stepped up and hit her hybrid beautifully.

And I mean beautifully.

After all that frustration, one little adjustment was enough for her to feel what a good hybrid shot was supposed to feel like. I cheered, she smiled, and we fist-bumped before walking together toward our balls.

Apparently, this hole wasn’t finished giving us things to celebrate.

When we reached the green, Paul’s ball was sitting just off the edge. He pulled out his wedge, lined up his shot, and chipped the ball toward the hole. We watched as it rolled across the green and disappeared into the cup.

He chipped it in!

Of course, we all started cheering. Between Clara’s hybrid shot and Paul’s chip-in, this hole was quickly becoming one of the highlights of our round.

By the time we finished our nine holes, I was really glad we hadn’t packed up and gone home after that rough start on the range. We never did pull out a scorecard, but somehow that made the afternoon even more enjoyable.

Clara worked her way through the frustration she had felt earlier and hit a hybrid shot she could feel good about. Paul chipped one in. And I finally made it over that fountain and onto the first green.

There were plenty of not-so-great shots mixed in between, too. We lost balls, hit shots we wished we could take back, and had moments of frustration. But we also cheered for each other, laughed, and kept walking to the next ball.

For a round we didn’t keep score, we certainly walked away with plenty of wins.

“Therefore encourage one another and build up one another, just as you also are doing” (1 Thessalonians 5:11).