Last time we stood on the tee of a 610-yard monster in Arizona. This time I look back to when I stood on the tee box of a 177-yard par 3…much shorter, but a monster as well. This hole, called Braes, is #17 on the Castle Course at St. Andrews. St. Andrews, if you don’t know, is the Holy Grail of golf, and is composed of seven different courses. The Old Course is where the Open Championship, one of golf’s majors, has been played numerous times. It has been in existence since the 15th century. Along with this gem, is the New Course, which has ONLY been around for 128 years. I’ve played these courses, or at least portions of them, along with the Jubilee, and the Castle Course, which is the newest addition to St. Andrews, opening in 2008.
The 17th hole on the Castle Course is, like I said, a par 3. But it is not like most par 3’s, where you don’t need to worry if you are short of the green. On this par 3, you have to make sure you carry the entire distance from the tee box to the green. Why? Because if you are short, your ball will end up either in the unplayable gorge between the tee and green, or in the North Sea. When you are standing on that tee box, you must calculate the strong wind blowing in from the right and adjust your shot trajectory accordingly. Being a left-handed golfer who hits a mild fade, it meant that I aimed right and hoped that the wind carried the ball back to the green. I did just that. I hit the shot…and it was a beauty…right over the North Sea and rocky coastline, and the wind obliged. My ball worked back to the left, aided by the wind, and landed on the green. I’m not going to lie, I walked up to the green feeling pretty good. I left my birdie putt a few inches short, and settled for a par. Now, there were a lot of things to get distracted by…the tee shot over the crashing waves of the North Sea, the howling wind, reliving shots, both fantastic and fantastically bad, from the previous 16 holes, and certainly not least…the realization that you about to finish a round of golf at freaking St. Andrews. They all sought refuge in my thoughts. But to pull off the shot, I had to stay in the moment. There was no room for my thoughts to be anywhere else. I had to be present because that is what mattered.
Growing up I played baseball. A lot of baseball, and I was pretty good. College good, but not good enough to turn pro. I played first base, from my first practice when I was 7, until I quit baseball my senior year in high school. (I quit because of a personality conflict with the coach.). I also pitched, and I wasn’t bad at the either. I even pitched a no-hitter, and if not for a couple of walks, it would have been a perfect game. I was also a decent hitter. The summer going into my junior year, I held the highest batting average in the summer city league, a nice .485. But playing first base was what I loved. It seems rather obvious to say this, but to be good at the game of baseball, or anything for that matter, doesn’t come without a tribe of individuals who make you better. I had a lot of great coaches throughout the years of playing. They all had a hand in how well I played. I had several good teammates as well. They made me better too. Then there was my dad. He was there every day, in the backyard, honing my catching and fielding skills. He would throw balls as far into the air as he could. He would throw ground balls onto our uneven backyard for me to field. That would serve me well later when a bad hop occurred. He would give me a target to practice my pitching. During every one of these practice sessions, the most important thing was that he was there. He was present and that is what mattered.
I don’t remember my dad ever missing a game…and there were countless games. In addition to the teams I played on, I made all-star teams for tournament play at the end of the regular season. Sure, he might have gotten there late because of work, but he arrived to see me play in every one of those games. To this day, my wife (obviously my girlfriend at the time) tells the story of my dad getting to the game after the start, climbing into the bleachers, and asking her how I was doing. If I was pitching, how many strikeouts did I have, how many runs had I give up, etc. If I was playing first base, how many balls did I field, and how was my hitting. She learned after that first time to write down all of those vital statistics. You see, even though he might have missed an inning or two, he showed up. He was present. And that is what mattered.
Now I want to tread lightly here, because I know not everyone has or had a dad like mine. Heck, some boys didn’t have a father figure in the home at all. I believe with all my heart, that every boy needs this. That is not to say that a mother isn’t critically important, because she is. But a father-son relationship is like no other. Too many kids end up in a place that is devastatingly bad. And too many of those lack a father in the home. This is not just empty words. It is factual. Statistics prove it. I’ve seen it…from mentoring teenage boys in juvenile detention to mentoring students through Teammates, a program started by former Nebraska Football coach Tom Osbourne. He saw the same effect of fatherless households and took action. Boys need men in their lives. If not a father, then a mentor…if not a mentor, then a coach…if not a coach, then a teacher…if not a teacher, then a big brother. Someone has to step up and be present. Because it matters.
Back to my dad. He taught me a lot, just by being around. By him being present, I learned how to fish, how to drive, fix things around the house, woodworking, change the oil in my car (though who does that anymore?), and the value of hard work. These barely scratch the surface of what I absorbed through his life instructions, but you get the idea. He was present, and I am a better person because of it. Let me return to that par 3 at St. Andrews. Remember how I mentioned all the possible distractions fighting for my attention, trying to pull my mind from the objective? Yeah, that happens in real life too. All of those times my dad was trying to teach me something valuable, there were other things at war for my attention. And I can say honestly, and regrettably, that sometimes those other things won. I missed out. And as I think back, I realize that I was the one not present in those situations. Fortunately, I have a dad who was patient and gave me many more opportunities. For that, I am eternally grateful. Let me close with a couple of quotes from people you may or may not be familiar with. They realized, as my dad well understood, the importance of a father being present in a son’s life.
“It is easier to build strong children than to repair broken men.” –Frederick Douglass
“My father used to play with my brother and me in the yard. Mother would come out and say, ‘You’re tearing up the grass.’ ‘We’re not raising grass,’ Dad would reply. ‘We’re raising boys.’” –Harmon Killebrew
Faith, Leadership, and History 