by James Ross
J Dub located a carry bag that was leaning against the wall. He threw it over his shoulder.
“A . . . A . . . A . . . Are those yours?”
“Nah. This is an old set that somebody left here one day. I guess they were so disgusted with their game that they never came back to claim them.”
“Can we use them?” Johnny asked.
“They don’t do anybody any good sitting against a wall. I’ll take the whole set out, but we’ll probably just use one or two clubs today.”
“Wh . . . Wh . . . Wh . . . Why just one or t . . . t . . . t . . . two?”
“I don’t want to throw too much at you on your first day. We’ll just learn the basics and find out what kind of eye/hand coordination you have.”
“I . . . I . . . I . . . I play b . . . b . . . b . . . baseball.”
“That’s a good start, but this swing is a little different than a baseball swing,” J Dub said.
“H . . . H . . . H . . . How?”
“Let’s get on out on the course and I’ll show you.” The trio descended the stairs. J Dub locked the door and turned to Julie. “Hold down the fort while I’m working with these guys.” He dropped the carry bag off of his shoulder, propped it against the wall, put down the shag bag and walked behind the counter. “What flavors do you two like?” The pro pointed to the stand-up cooler with glass doors.
“Gr . . . Gr . . . Gr . . . Grape.” Owen stammered. Julie smiled.
“Orange.”
J Dub grabbed one of each and a container of bottled water, threw some ice in a cooler and packed the beverages away. “Okay, let’s hit it.” He threw the carry bag over his shoulder and carried the cooler and shag bag in the other hand. Owen and Johnny followed.
“Wh . . . Wh . . . Wh . . . Where are we g . . . g . . . g . . . going now?”
“To the cart barn.”
“Do we get to ride in a cart?” Johnny asked.
“Better than that,” J Dub answered. He slid open the door to the barn and threw the clubs, shag bag and cooler in the back of a used John Deere Gator. The green vehicle with yellow seats was an all-purpose vehicle for the course. “Hop in.” The boys jumped into the bed of the mini-truck.
“Wh . . . Wh . . . Wh . . . Where are we g . . . g . . . g . . . going?”
“To the range for your first lesson,” J Dub said with a grin. “Hang on.” The ride was less than fifty yards. They could have walked, but J Dub thought that he would give the kids a little thrill. Plus his hands were full and he didn’t feel like walking.
“Now what?” Johnny asked.
J Dub grabbed the shag bag and the golf bag. He pointed to a spot over to the right. “Johnny, you go there.” He pointed to the left. “Owen, you go there.” The pro emptied some balls onto the ground for both boys to hit. “One of you, grab a seven-iron and the other can hit an eight-iron.” He handed each a club.
“Can’t we hit a driver?” Johnny asked. He had been watching a little golf on television.
“No way. Not today,” J Dub answered. “The game is hard enough with the basic clubs.” J Dub grabbed a nine-iron out of the bag and walked over to the practice tee. “When I learned the game, my dad made me hit balls until I wore a hole through the club.”
“Ouch again,” Johnny said. “That’s more work than what I want.”
J Dub started to teach. “Now look, I want you two to understand something. There is no right way or wrong way to hit the golf ball, but the golf swing won’t be as flat as a baseball swing. It’s got more of a pendulum motion, like the hand on a grandfather clock. All I can do is show you the fundamentals. It’s up to you to practice and perfect your shots and your swing.”
Each boy seemed to be pre-occupied with the cluster of balls lying on the ground. “C . . . C . . . C . . . Can we go ahead a . . . a . . . a . . . and hit?”
“In a minute. I want to teach you guys a couple of things first. All teaching pros will do it differently, but I think that the two most important things in hitting a golf ball are your grip and ball position.” Both boys looked confused. He showed the kids how to use an overlapping grip and demonstrated where the ball should be on the ground in relation to their feet. “If you concentrate on doing those two things right, then I think that 90 percent of your problems can be solved.”
“All we’re going to do is try to hit a ball that isn’t even moving,” Johnny said sarcastically.
“Then go ahead,” J Dub urged. “It’s on the ground. Hit it.” Johnny stepped up to the ball and stood over it for a second. With a quick move he brought the club straight up, stopped his swing at impact and hit the ball to the right.
“What was that?”
“That’s called a shank,” J Dub replied. “No good. It’s not as easy as it looks, is it?”
Johnny placed another ball in front of him and swung and missed. He looked up to see if J Dub saw him. “This isn’t much fun.”
“It looks easier than it is.”
Johnny swung again and again with similar results. “What am I doing?”
“Lots of things wrong,” J Dub answered. “But we’re just out here today to see what your eye/hand coordination is like. You know, to see if you have a feel for the sport.”
“C . . . C . . . C . . . Can I go?”
“Sure, get a ball in front of you and smack it out there.” Owen placed his hands on the club carefully setting them as J Dub had instructed so that they would work in tandem. He was careful to line his feet up with the target and place the ball midway between his legs. J Dub studied the mannerisms of his young pupil and liked what he saw. Owen slowly pulled the club back, made contact and watched as the ball soared into the air. The direction was straight. The flight of the ball through the sky was ideal. As it descended it clanged off a sign on the range that had a 100 on it.
“I hit it!”
J Dub couldn’t believe it. “I know guys that can stand here all summer and not hit that sign.” He folded his arms so that he placed his right elbow on his left forearm and put his chin into his hand. “Can you do that again?”
“I’ll try.” Owen moved a ball into position and mentally went through his checkpoints. He swung and once again the ball flew through the air and fell only two feet to the right of the target. “Aw! Almost!”
“Pretty close,” J Dub said amazed at what he just witnessed. Johnny was busy hacking away to the right and getting discouraged.
Owen positioned himself over another ball. He took a practice swing. Many players of all shapes and sizes marched through the pro shop doors. Only once in a while would J Dub see a fluid motion like that in a golfer. Owen sent another sphere into the sky. On its descent it barely missed the sign again. “I’ll get it next time!” The determination was evident.
Johnny had gotten frustrated. He walked over to the John Deere and plopped himself onto the front seat. “I’m glad you can do it cuz I sure can’t.”
“Playing golf isn’t as easy as it looks,” J Dub reiterated. “Hang in there and don’t get frustrated.” The pro walked over to Johnny and encouraged him to keep trying.
Owen lined up another shot. The grip was perfect. The ball position was right on. The tempo was ideal. He hit another one at the sign. This time the ball dropped out of the air three feet in front of the sign and bounced up to collide off the middle zero. “I did it! I did it!”
The head pro’s mouth flew open. And you’re not stuttering anymore either.
Chapter Fifteen
“Look what I brought home!” Nada shouted as he exited the cab and walked around the garage through the breezeway.
“It better not be an STD,” Rayelene yelled through the screen door. She was sitting on a stool at the breakfast bar polishing her toenails.
“Come out here and help me unload it,” Nada insisted. He inched the screen door open, stuck his head next to the jamb and yanked it in the direction of the Peterbilt.
“It better be good,” Rayelene said as she put her emery board on the breakfast bar, capped the container
of nail polish and plopped a chocolate covered cherry into her mouth. “Maybe like a winnin’ Powerball ticket or somethin’ like that.” She got off the stool, walked out the door through the breezeway and followed her husband to the side of the cab.
“If this doesn’t fix you up and make you all pretty I don’t know what will,” Nada gushed.
“What did you get?”
“Shoes,” Nada said as he opened the door to his sleeper.
“Where?” Rayelene asked.
“The flea market,” Nada answered. “I went by one down in New Mexico and ran across this deal that was too good to be true.” He climbed into the sleeper and started to push the large box out the door.
“How many did you get?”
“Five hundred of them!” Nada could hardly hold his excitement.
“Five hundred pairs of shoes?”
“Yeah!”
“That must have cost a small fortune.” Rayelene chastised him. “I mean I like shoes and all but we don’t have the money to be spendin’ on that.” She was standing on the runner pulling the box through the door.
“There are more shoes here than I know what to do with,” Nada blurted. “And it was too good of a deal to pass up.”
“How much were they?”
“Twenty bucks!” Nada exclaimed. “They had to have the box marked wrong or somethin’.”
“Twenty bucks for five hundred pairs of shoes?”
“Yeah, it was a mistake or somethin’. I realized it immediately, got the money out of my pocket and paid the lady before they discovered it. They had to be missin’ a zero or two off the price tag.”
“Have you been drinkin’ again?”
“No! I backed the cab up, got her son to help me load them and got out of there before they knew they had it marked wrong.”
Rayelene tugged on the box extra hard just as Nada was giving it a huge push. The container flew past Rayelene and toppled onto gravel below. “I hope we didn’t ruin any of them,” Rayelene said as she jumped off the runner and started picking up the shoes.
“There are so many of them if one or two got scuffed up there will be more to wear.” Shoes of every color and style were scattered across the gravel.
“Nada! They’re beautiful!” Rayelene jumped up on the runner, stuck her head in the sleeper and planted a huge kiss on her husband.
“I felt bad the other day when we went shoppin’ at the MooseMart and I made you put those two pair of shoes back.”
“Oh, you didn’t have to make it up like this.”
“But I know how much those peek-toe shoes mean to you. You know, with your feet an’ all.”
Rayelene batted her eyes. “Nada, that’s so thoughtful.” She kissed him again.
“Now you have so many of them there won’t be enough days in the year to wear them all.”
Rayelene climbed back down to the driveway. Nada jumped down next to her. “How did you know what size to get?”
“I didn’t. I just figured if I bought the whole batch some of them would fit.”
“Oh,” Rayelene said with a tinge of disappointment. “So now we’ve gone from five hundred pairs to maybe a couple of hundred.” She started going through all of the shoes that were spread out on the rocks. “Can you find the one that goes with this?” She held a yellow one up with straps.
Nada went through a few dozen pair and said, “Maybe it’s still in the box.” He bent over and rifled through the box looking for a yellow shoe with straps. “I don’t see anything in here that matches it.”
“Then how about this red one or this green one?” Rayelene held up two more shoes that caught her attention.
Nada looked again. “Nope.” He scratched his head. “But there are so many of them we need to spread them out in different colors. You get the green, red and yellow ones and I’ll find the black, white and blue ones.”
Rayelene and Nada spent the next fifteen minutes spreading the assorted shoes across the driveway. “I still can’t find the one that goes with this one,” Rayelene said. Once again she held up the yellow shoe with straps. “I love this look!”
“Maybe it’s not in here.”
“Neither is the other one for the green one or the red one.” Rayelene tried to slip into one, then another. “Every one of them only goes on my left foot.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“It does if they’re nothin’ but samples!” Reality smacked Rayelene between the eyes. “What kind of a dumb bunny are you?” She picked up a red shoe and hurled it at her husband. Then she fired a green one at him, followed by a yellow one. “None of them match, you idiot!”
Nada crouched down shielding himself from the attack of the left-footed shoes. One shoe after another bounced off his body. “I guess I messed up.”
“Messed up?” Rayelene was livid. “Thanks for the thought but you must be some sort of a moron.”
Nada cowered away from his spouse. “Do you want to see what else I bought?”
“At the flea market?”
Nada shook his head up and down. “Uh-huh.”
“It better be a box of right-footed shoes.”
“Nope.” Nada crawled back into the sleeper. I bought eight gallons of paint for five bucks.” He held a gallon of paint up for Rayelene to see. “Me an’ ole Betsy are gonna go to the altar.”
“You’re gonna paint the car?”
Nada shook his head once again. “Yep.”
“Then have at it.” Rayelene got up to walk back into the house. “It won’t be with my help.”
“Wh . . . Wh . . . Wh . . . What are all the sh . . . sh . . . sh . . . shoes for?” Owen asked as he walked down the driveway from the city park, skateboard in hand.
“I got them for your mom but she didn’t like them. They didn’t fit.” Nada threw a handful of shoes back into the box. “Help me git these back in there, then I’ll have a project for us.”
“Wh . . . Wh . . . Wh . . . What kind?”
“We’re gonna paint the car.”
The two threw handfuls of shoes into the box. It was almost full when Owen asked, “D . . . D . . . D . . . Do you want me t . . . t . . . t . . . to get all of the p . . . p . . . p . . . paint brushes?”
“Sure. They should be in the garage.”
Owen left to retrieve the brushes, rollers and roller pan. Nada pried open a can and stirred the paint.
“Wh . . . Wh . . . Wh . . . What smells s . . . s . . . s . . . so funny?”
“It’s old paint. That’s why I got eight cans for five dollars.”
“I . . . I . . . I . . . It’s an ugly c . . . c . . . c . . . color.”
“I couldn’t be choosy for five bucks.” Nada poured a gallon of paint into the roller pan. “How’s your summer goin’?”
“F . . . F . . . F . . . Fine. W . . . W . . . W . . . We’ve only b . . . b . . . b . . . been out of school th . . . th . . . th . . . three days.” The two started applying paint to the exterior of the Chevy Impala. “Phew! It s . . . s . . . s . . . smells.”
“It’s just old.” Nada changed the topic. “Have you been playin’ ball and swimmin’?”
“N . . . N . . . N . . . Not much. M . . . M . . . M . . . Mom’s been taking me t . . . t . . . t . . . to the g . . . g . . . g . . . golf course.”
“She’s takin’ you where?” The hood was covered with a fresh coat of paint and both sides were nearly completed.
“The g . . . g . . . g . . . golf course.”
“PBR!” Nada rolled the roller across the top of the car while Owen applied paint to the trunk.
Rayelene bounced out of the house in her housecoat and flip-flops. “Can you hold it down a little? All the neighbors will want to know what’s goin’ on over here.”
“The boy says that you’ve been takin’ him to the golf course.”
“Yeah.”
“You know that costs money.”
“I’m payin’ for it with my own money. That’s what he wants to do and the pro said that he’s
doin’ real good.”
“I don’t know ’bout all that. He won’t ever be able to take it much further.”
“Whatcha mean?” She looked at the coat of paint that was on the car.
“In life. It costs too much to play.”
Rayelene sniffed the air. “What’s that smell?”
“D . . . D . . . D . . . Dad says it’s b . . . b . . . b . . . because the p . . . p . . . p . . . paint is old.”
“That’s not old paint.” Rayelene pulled her housecoat all the way shut and tightened the belt around the waist. She bent over and smelled the hood. “Aaaaghhhh! There’s bugs stickin’ to the paint!”
“Where?” Nada asked.
“Look! There are gnats and mosquitoes and flies. They can’t move!” She reached down to touch the hood and came up with a finger full of wet paint. Upon inspection she brought her finger up to her nose and smelled the product again. Suspecting something other than paint she licked her finger. “That’s not paint!”
“Then what is it?” Nada asked.
“That’s caramel for candy apples!”
“It is not! It’s brown paint! That’s what the gal at the flea market said.”
“You dumb bunny!” Rayelene ran to the back of the house and grabbed the garden hose. After turning it on she sprayed the car and watched as the caramel oozed down to the gravel driveway.
“Hey! Hey! What are you doin’? We were almost done!”
“Nada, you are a moron!” Rayelene redirected the hose at her husband and let loose with a ferocious spray until he was thoroughly soaked.
Chapter Sixteen
“Where’s Johnny?” Julie asked as Rayelene and Owen entered the clubhouse.
“He decided that golf wasn’t his game,” Rayelene answered.
“He sure didn’t give it much of a chance. Almost everyone gets discouraged after the first try.” Julie turned to Owen. “J Dub said that you hit the sign on your first swing.”
Owen’s boyish grin lit up the clubhouse. “Th . . . Th . . . Th . . . That was n . . . n . . . n . . . neat.”
“I haven’t seen J Dub that excited about giving a lesson in a long time.”
The comment tickled Rayelene. “He’s been an active kid his whole life.”