Hunting and clubbing little white balls as a family tribe

My father, brother-in-law, brother and I played golf together today. It was a comical foursome on a scorching day  in Seattle.

My father started playing golf about nine months ago at the age of 72. He’s lost some mobility due to a surgery to remove calcium deposits in his neck that constricted his spine. Nonetheless, he is an enthusiastic golfer and loves having the three of us there whenever he hits a good shot.

My brother-in-law is the youngest, although the three of us are all in our 40’s. He’s still spry and thin. He has been working some incredible hours as one of the pastors at a church in Seoul with around 40,000 members. His job is incredibly demanding. And now, he may be creating even more stress for himself as he is starting a new church in Seoul. He and our sister and their three daughters are back in Seattle visiting.

My brother and I are 18 months apart and probably started thrash-talking to each other as soon as he, the younger one, was born. We are relentless with one another. It’s always been that way. We wouldn’t want it any other way.

The hills were tough in the heat today. All three of us made sure that our father had help throughout the round with his heavy bag. He was a trooper though, he walked the full 18 holes.

Those five hours were the longest period of concentrated time I’ve ever spent with my father, brother-in-law and brother all together. Funny, it took a little white ball to get us together to see my father act like a kid again, to have the opportunity to listen to my brother-in-law ponder his future, and to compete with my brother once again. To me, that’s the magic of golf. We don’t hunt nor farm together to bond like our ancestors. Instead, we hunt and club little white balls together.