Golf is an activity I was never able to warm up to.
I realize I’m in the minority, as so many people I know immerse themselves in the game completely.
My entire family golfs, or did golf – some to the extreme.
My mother and father indulged regularly.
My dad seemed able to take to any sport and be halfway good at it. In later life, Mom was declared legally blind, but she was able to play on. She couldn’t follow the ball as it left the tee, but she could see it at her feet. Dad would keep watch, give directions to the ball, and then line up the next shot with her.
She would hit it straight almost every time. It never went very far, but then she rarely lost a ball.
My father seemed to be tuned in to lost balls in the rough or in the woods. He quite often ended up with more balls on the last green than they started with.
A heartfelt aside about my parents: We were told occasionally by friends, particularly by my sister’s close buddies, that the home life of the Oberlanders was exceptional.
The atmosphere was always calm and friendly. I think one reason for this was that the three siblings were all five years apart. Our interests were different and there was no competition.
However, the biggest reason for the tranquility was the enormous respect they had for one another and the fact that they never spoke to one another above a normal speaking tone.
Back to golf!
Both my sons play the game with friends and business associates, but are not overzealous about it.
My brother, Pete, has played since returning from Vietnam. He played a lot with Dad, as well as our sister, Anne, and her husband, Don. He continued with friends and co-workers. For as long as I can remember, he has been a participant in a golf league, at one time two leagues.
Before my brother-in-law’s untimely passing two years ago, he and Anne were the ultimate denizens of the links and had been that way for many years. They never traveled anywhere, by automobile or airplane, without the clubs.
They were very good golfers and Anne still is a very good golfer.
Don was particularly accomplished. In every place they lived they joined the local club. When living in Canton, Mass., they were members of two clubs.
Don would attain the club championship or finish close behind regularly. He was a wonderful teacher, not only passing on the physical points of the game, but the mental aspects as well.
Anne and Don’s bucket list was playing as many courses as possible, all over New England and up and down the Atlantic coast. Don accomplished his ultimate quest, a round at the world-renowned Pebble Beach course in California, a few years before his death.
They passed on their love of the game to both sons, Don III and Chris, and to four grandchildren, the two youngest of whom seem to want to carry on with the same zest for the game.
When newly married I actually played a bit myself, starting out with clubs borrowed from my uncle.
Three or four neighbors that we became friendly with in Brockton, Mass. liked to golf and quite often I played with the group.
I was not very adept at the game, which frustrated me, as I could usually hold my own when competing in backyard sports.
I do not remember how long I tortured myself doing this – two or three years at most. I do remember walking around a few of the local courses and even one time finishing up in a mini snowstorm on a late fall outing.
What I can’t seem to rid my memory of is the very last time I was ever seen holding a golf club and desperately trying to finish out the round.
It was a very pleasant Sunday morning at Strawberry Valley Country Club in North Abington, Mass., the next town over from where we all lived.
At the first tee, with other players looking on as they waited for their turn to tee off, I took my swing and hit a ground ball off the tee. This wasn’t an unusual occurrence, as I had developed the habit of looking up to where the ball was supposed to go before actually making contact.
One time I hit the ball with the very end of the club head and put so much spin on it that it went on an angle backward.
My shots would often home in on any water hazards.
This is what happened to separate me from the game forever.
I knocked three or four balls directly into the water in front of the tee we were on.
I was beyond aggravated. I threw another ball off to the side of the pond. I remarked to my playing partners that I would play out from this point to the 18th hole and that I would be ridding myself of the clubs and never play the game again.
I have been true to my word for 55 years.
(Robert H. Oberlander lives at Hunter’s Landing in Walpole.)
