It’s Their Timeline, Not Yours

As soon as it was revealed that I was pregnant with our first son, the world decided he was destined to become the next “Uncle Phil.” If I had a nickel for every time I heard, “It’s in the genes,” I would be writing this article under a palm tree on a white sandy beach with a cabana boy bringing me endless piña coladas.

But genetic makeup does not a golfer make. My husband and I did everything we could to encourage our son to fall in love with the game. We had a plastic club in his chubby little hands by the time he could walk, and he would swing that thing around like it was an extra appendage. We bought dozens of wiffle balls and entertained ourselves by lining them all up and watching him consistently whack them like he was Iron Byron. I certainly had my hopes up.

As he got older, I helped him a bit more with mechanics, just to ensure he wasn’t picking up any bad habits. But his interest in golf was always tepid compared to his enthusiasm for baseball, football, mountain biking and anything else that would guarantee consistent visits to the orthopedic specialist.

If a child lacks interest in the game, you can’t force it. I knew my son needed to navigate his own golf journey, on his own timeline. As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t shove a 7-iron into his hands, point at the green and command, “Go love this great game!”

However, this past summer, out of the blue, my son looked at me and asked, “Mom, will you take me to the driving range?”

I forced myself to play it cool because teens can sense when they are bringing joy to a parent. I was chill for about two minutes before we were screeching out of the driveway and leaving tire marks on the concrete as I eagerly taxied us to the practice facility in record time.

When we carried our bags through the parking lot, I swear it felt like one of those scenes from the movies where the characters walk in slow motion, tall and with intention, like something big is about to go down. And then, it actually did. My son, my teenage son, asked for my … wait for it … advice!

I took some slow deep breaths to keep myself from clapping as I jumped up and down. I adjusted his grip and setup slightly (I didn’t want to overload him right out of the gate) and he took a swing while I held my breath.

Pretty good shot. And was that a smile I saw on his face? Stay calm. Don’t make eye contact.

He asked for more input, we worked a bit longer and the natural swing he had back when he was so young started to return more and more with each ball he hit. You better believe that I have the date and time etched in my journal of when he legitimately caught the golf bug on his own. And now he’s playing or practicing any chance he gets.

Will he try for a college scholarship? Who knows? Will he want to try to play professionally? Who cares? I will support whatever path he chooses, both on and off the golf course.

If a child lacks interest in the game, you can’t force it. I knew my son needed to navigate his own golf journey, on his own timeline.”

My job was to lead him to the game without pushing him so hard that he ran the other way. And for now, I’m just soaking up the fact that he asks me to play with him.

During our rounds of golf together, I hear more about his week at school than all the dinner conversations put together for the entire month. Even though I had to patiently wait 14 years for him to “discover” the game of golf, I will forever be grateful it happened.

Unless, of course, he decides to use the coffee table as a target for chipping practice again. Then we’ll have words.