It was on one of the too few courses that

you could still walk on Sundays, and

the green fees were already reasonable

to boot.

My best friend and I were there early in the

the morning, no tee time, but we were there.

Money was accepted, and we were sent to the

tee where there where @ 10 carts,

chock full of twenty-somethings.

Arms crossed and glaring at the only

two-some, it sure seemed not to help that we

were walking walk-ons either.

The man in charge immediately sent us

to the front of that line, and we were joined

by one who claimed to be a Ranger,

one who left an arm in Afghanistan.

According to the man in charge, everyone

else was afraid he might slow em down

because he was walking, and, you

know, one arm.

Being a two-some, I personally was

already elated by our being allowed

to tee off, this addition was an honor.

Prepared to wait a couple hours,

I quickly downed the coffee in

my hand, and strolled past the carts.

Stogies were puffed, but no one said

a word.

Good drives by all, and us three

took off. We not only weren’t slow,

we had to wait a couple holes while the

group in front cleared.

I still marvel that the man walked 18 holes,

and managed to hit a golf ball doing it.

With one arm and lots of grit.

On one of the holes, he hit 4 balls into a

small pond, then hit a 5th over it.

Didn’t want to make an exception to the rules,

either.

Up until that day I had kept my scores for

years, thought I knew my handicap.

Suddenly, I realized I didn’t have one.