by James Ross
J Dub walked up to the counter from the office. “Hey! There’s my new project.” He came over and shook hands with Owen. After receiving a firm grip he continued, “Somebody taught you how to shake hands pretty good.”
“Pr . . . Pr . . . Pr . . . Project?”
“Maybe I could have used another word.” J Dub paused. “Prodigy might have been a better response.”
“Pr . . . Pr . . . Pr . . . Prodigy? Wh . . . Wh . . . Wh . . . What’s that?”
J Dub thought for a second before responding. “That’s someone that has all the God-given talent of a grown man at an early age, or something close to that.”
Rayelene blushed. “I wouldn’t take it that far.”
“You haven’t seen his swing.” J Dub grabbed a seven-iron that was behind the counter. He placed his hands on the grip and looked down to see if the club was held properly. “Let me say this, I’ve spent a lot of time on the range teaching people how to swing. Owen is unique in that he could do on the first swing what a lot of guys need years and years to develop.”
Rayelene looked down on her son. “That’s some kind words. We were only plannin’ on comin’ over this summer to keep him active and occupied.”
“He can come every day. I’d love to work with him.” J Dub went to the calendar hanging on the wall and looked at some dates. “Of course from here it depends on how hard he wants to work and practice. Just because he did it one day doesn’t mean it’s going to come easy every day.”
“Is that what you’d like to do, Honey?”
Owen nodded his head up and down. “Y . . . Y . . . Y . . . Yep.”
“He’s met Julie. He can get supervision from her or me or my brother, Curt. Or, for that matter, even one of the regulars around here can help. But for the most part I want to see him practicing on the range and hanging around the course.”
“Can you keep him busy all day?” Rayelene thought that too much practicing might be too much.
“If he wants to get the hang of it then we can teach him the game. The regulars around here will play with anybody. It doesn’t matter if you’re ten years old or one hundred years old. Everybody’s welcome.”
“But do us a favor and let us know at least a day in advance all the days you’re going to drop him off,” Julie reminded Rayelene.
“And forget the clinic with the other kids. I want to work with him privately,” the head pro added.
“Will that cost extra?” Rayelene gritted her teeth, furrowed her brow and pressed on her temples with the palms of her hands.
“Not at all! I want the opportunity,” J Dub assured her.
Rayelene turned to leave, then took a step to her son and kissed his forehead. “Learn your lessons well. You’ve got a great chance to have a fun summer.”
“And a fun life,” J Dub interjected.
“I’ll see you after work.” Rayelene turned to exit the door. She grabbed the handle and pulled the door open in an attempt to leave. The bottom of the door opened into her right foot. “Ow! Ow!” she jumped slightly in the air with her weight landing on her left foot. Her right leg was bent at the knee, her foot hanging limply. “Now I feel so stupid!”
“Come here and sit down,” Julie said as she hurried around the counter and pulled a stool up for Rayelene to sit on.
“I can’t believe I did that!” She brought her right heel up and placed it in the stool, crooked at the knee. Rayelene winced and rubbed her toe.
“Let me get some ice,” Julie said as she scurried back around the counter to the ice bin.
J Dub walked past the register and approached Rayelene. “Let me take a look.” He had taken some courses in sports medicine and first aid in the event it would come in handy someday. The pro reached out and placed Rayelene’s foot in the palm of his left hand. With his right hand he massaged her Achilles tendon and ankle joint. The large toe started to swell.
“I’m so embarrassed!” Rayelene apologized. “I feel so clumsy.”
“Those things happen,” J Dub said as he continued to massage her foot.
“Whew! Whew!” Rayelene raised her right hand and fanned her face. “That feels so good.” She closed her eyes, tilted her head back and took a heavy breath.
J Dub noticed the perfect pedicure on her toes, the anklet and green shamrock. “You’ve got beautiful feet.”
“Th . . . Th . . . Th . . . That’s the one th . . . th . . . th . . . thing she w . . . w . . . w . . . w works on all d . . . d . . . d . . . day.”
“You can tell,” J Dub said. “They’re gorgeous.” Rayelene smiled.
Julie approached with a Ziploc bag of ice. The head pro placed it on her foot in an attempt to get the swelling to go down.
“Oh! Oh! That’s cold.”
“It will be for a few seconds until your foot gets used to it,” J Dub said as he applied a little pressure to make sure the bag made solid contact with the toe. “I like that look.”
“What?” Rayelene asked.
“The anklet. You don’t see too many of those anymore.”
Rayelene chuckled, a little self-conscious about the attention it created. “I guess it’s my way of some self-expression.”
“And the tattoo?”
“Well, that too, I suppose.” She looked at J Dub admiring how he was taking such good care of her. His strong hands were caressing her foot while her heartbeat raced inside her chest. She fanned her face again. “Whew. Whew. You’d think that all of that ice would cool me down a bit.”
“It will. Give it some time.”
“If it doesn’t melt too quick instead.” She waved her hand in front of her face again and blew out a breath of air. “Whew.”
Chapter Seventeen
Moments later Rayelene left the clubhouse. After making sure that she was in good enough shape to drive, Julie helped her to the minivan. Rayelene hopped the distance on one foot.
Owen put on his visor. His golf glove hung halfway out of the pocket on his shorts. “Looks like you’re raring to go,” J Dub said.
The lad nodded his head. “Y . . . Y . . . Y . . . Yep.”
“I kept your clubs in the cart barn,” J Dub said. The two walked in that direction.
“M . . . M . . . M . . . My clubs?”
“Yeah, the ones that you used the other day,” J Dub said then he thought for a second. “As far as I’m concerned you can have them. You sure seemed to hit them well.”
“W . . . W . . . W . . . Wow!” A smile burst out on Owen’s face. “Th . . . Th . . . Th . . . Thanks!”
“Your first set.” The pair reached the cart barn. The bag was leaning against the wall. “Throw them in and we’ll drive to the practice range. Owen placed the set of clubs into the back of the Gator. He hopped into the passenger seat. “Now there will be some other kids down there for the clinic this morning,” J Dub said as he backed the vehicle out of the barn. “I’ll have to go and give them some instruction, but I want you to go on the other end of the range and hit balls by yourself.”
“B . . . B . . . B . . . By myself?”
“Yeah. I’ll be down to work with you. I just need to get the kids started.” He dropped Owen off at one side of the range, emptied several dozen balls onto the ground and got into the Gator.
“S . . . S . . . S . . . Same club?”
“Hit that eight-iron. Go through the checklist of things that we went through the other day. Do you remember what they were?”
Owen nodded his head. J Dub knew that the kid wouldn’t forget. J Dub knew that the boy was born with the knowledge of how to hold the club and hit the ball. “I . . . I . . . I . . . I think so.”
“I want you to get the feel of things and groove that swing.” As J Dub pulled away he saw Owen arranging the balls on the ground the way he wanted them. Finding the right spot to hit from was part of the routine. He wanted to be at ease. Golf is a solitary sport. The player has to be in tune with his surroundings and have the utmost concentration. J Dub wanted to see how the kid would react without
his supervision for a while.
Owen handled things as if had been doing it all of his life. It was hard to believe that he had swung a club for the first time just days before. He tightened the glove on his left hand, made sure that his visor sat atop his head comfortably and went about the checklist of things that J Dub wanted him to do. Even at such an early age he was serious. Practicing hard and correctly was as much a part of his mindset as laughing and riding bikes with the other kids at the city park.
And when it came time to focus on the task at hand, it was as if a whole different temperament enveloped him. He approached every shot as if he was trying to pull off the best shot he could possibly make. To do that showed maturity. And as J Dub glanced at him from time to time he could see that the kid was serious. He couldn’t believe that he was only twelve years old!
Time after time the ball clicked off of the club perfectly. Every shot hit in the vicinity of the 100-yard marker. Owen wasn’t merely having fun like a normal kid. He bore down and was determined to do the best he could on every practice shot.
“How many times did you hit the sign today?” J Dub said as he drove up knowing full well that he heard a ball hit the marker at least four times.
Owen peered at the ground focused on moving another ball into place on the ground. “Six,” he said, a calmness about him, the stuttering gone. He looked up with a glazed look in his eyes. “It should have been nine or ten but I got a bad bounce when the ball hit the ground.”
“That’s exciting, Owen!”
Owen shrugged his shoulders like he expected that result. “I want to go and play.”
“No, we’re not going to do that for quite a while,” J Dub said. “I want to teach you the game and have you perfect a swing that you can count on.”
“I know how to play.”
“Even the best learn something every day,” the head pro assured the kid.
“I’m ready to go to the course.”
“Not so fast. I’ve got to teach you how to play out of the sand and how to chip and how to drive the ball,” J Dub laughed. “And then there’s the putting. That’s a whole different ballgame.”
“I can do it.” The boy was brimming with confidence.
“Just hold on to those emotions. You don’t even know the rule book yet,” J Dub said. “You’re only twelve. There’s all the time in the world for you to play a round of golf. I want you to keep practicing here on the range and learn all of the proper techniques.” He brought some more practice balls over and dumped them on the ground. “Here are some more to hit. Keep plugging away.”
“I don’t know if I do.”
“You don’t know if you do what?”
“Have all the time in the world,” the lad blurted.
That’s a funny response, J Dub thought. “Why do you say something like that?”
“I might die real soon. I need to do it the right way right now.”
“Hmm. Okay then, maybe we’ll let you get a round in earlier than I originally thought. But for the time being, go ahead and keep hitting those balls. I want to watch you.”
Owen reached out with his eight-iron and nudged a practice ball into position with the face of his club. He set his grip, moved his body so that he had perfect ball position in his stance, gave a tiny knee flex and took the club back slowly with his left arm. The ball soared toward the target. “That one’s close,” he muttered as his head was still down staring at the divot.
“How do you know?” J Dub asked as he watched the ball.
“I can just tell.” The ball slammed off the middle zero on the sign. “I hit it perfect.” He glanced back at J Dub and smiled.
“Keep doing that until you can do it every time. Even though that sounds impossible I want that to be your goal.”
“How long did it take before you could hit them like that?”
“My dad taught me the game when I was your age. He was a coach and part-time golf instructor during the summer months,” J Dub said. “He had me go to the far end of the range and hit an eight-iron until I wore a hole all the way through it.”
“Now that’s impossible.”
J Dub shook his head negatively. “No it isn’t. I’ve still got the club to prove it.”
“I want to see it.”
“It’s in the clubhouse. I’ll show it to you.”
“How many balls did it take before you wore a hole in it?” Owen asked.
“It took all summer,” J Dub said. “And dad wouldn’t let me play a round of golf until we could see daylight through the other side of it.”
“You must have gotten pretty good.”
“That was the summer that I grooved my swing. That’s why I want you to stay down here and forget about the golf course. There’s plenty of time to play a round. This is the place to learn how to strike the ball.”
Owen scooted another ball into place, went through his checklist and knocked the ball within ten feet of the sign. “Almost.”
“I bet I hit balls eight to ten hours a day during that summer,” J Dub said.
“That’s a lot of practice.”
“That’s what it takes to be good at anything. And there was only one big oak tree that was close by for shade.”
“How good did you get?”
“Good enough to go for my tour card, but I just missed it. Then this opportunity came along.”
“Do you regret not playing pro golf?”
“Not really, my life went in another direction. I got married and started a family.”
Owen scooted another ball into the hitting area. He repeated his actions. The ball once again hit near the sign. “Close again.”
J Dub looked at the kid in admiration. “Keep hitting balls. That’s the way you’ll get better. But you know what?”
“What?” Owen asked.
“You haven’t stuttered once since you’ve been down here hitting balls on the range.”
“Really?” The look on his face was that of total surprise. “I didn’t notice.”
“Maybe that’s all the more reason to stay down here. The game of golf must agree with your inner constitution.”
“Huh?”
“Golf relaxes you. Stay right here and enjoy it.”
Chapter Eighteen
The pair stayed on the range for another hour. For the most part J Dub studied his pupil and helped him when adjustments needed to be made. Other than that, J Dub watched and marveled at the natural, fluid swing the kid possessed.
“Ready?”
Owen nodded his head. “How many times did I hit it?”
“Counting the bounces and the glancing blows I counted fourteen,” J Dub answered. He pointed to the side of the tee box. “There’s a tub of water to wash your clubs.”
Owen threw the carry-on bag over his shoulder and walked to the pail. One by one he dipped the clubs into the bucket and wiped them dry with a towel. When he was finished he loaded the clubs into the back of the Gator. “I’m hungry.” He jumped into the seat next to J Dub.
“You had a good practice today,” J Dub said. “Are you sure you’ve never hit balls before this week?”
Owen shook his head negatively. “No, this is the first time.”
“Then do yourself a favor and remember that golf is a very humbling game. You’re not always going to meet with the success that you’ve had on the range these last couple of days.” The head pro steered the Gator up to the cart barn. “Just because you’re hitting that eight-iron good doesn’t mean that the chipping or driving or putting might suffer a breakdown. This game has a way of jumping up and getting back at you.”
“Okay.” Owen acted a bit disinterested. “Can I have a sandwich?”
“Yeah, we’ll go in and have Julie fix us up.” The duo entered the clubhouse. A lot of the gang was sitting in the back booth figuring up their bets from the early morning round. The guys liked to show up early, get on the course before the crowd hit and get done before the hot heat from the afternoon sun baked the course.
“Hey guys!”
“Who is your little buddy?” Fred asked. He was an overweight night foreman at the auto plant. His red-haired flat top and three hundred pound frame were staples in the back booth at Prairie Winds. “Julie’s been telling us about the hotshot for the last half hour.”
Owen bowed his head, somewhat embarrassed by the attention. “Come on over and I’ll introduce you to the guys,” J Dub said. “They’ll all be here to help you out whenever you need it.” Owen followed J Dub to the back corner. “Now I don’t expect you to remember all of their names,” the head pro started, “but the big guy in the booth is Fred.”
“N . . . N . . . N . . . Nice to m . . . m . . . m . . . meet you.”
“Likewise,” Fred said. “A little nervous, are we?”
“He gets worked up a little when he’s around people he doesn’t know too well,” J Dub said as he covered for his buddy. “The older guy with the gray hair is Easy Earl,” the head pro said as he referred to the retired car salesman. “The tanned guy is Paco.” He was a Mexican immigrant in the landscaping business. “And the taller, skinny guy is BT.” The retired teacher used to play pro baseball but never made it to the big leagues. “You have to speak real loud when you’re around Rollie. He can’t hear too well.” The retired business owner had sold the family business and now played golf every day. He used a hearing aid since part of his eardrum was damaged in combat. “Paul is kind of the spokesman of the group,” J Dub said as he referred to a distinguished looking silver fox that was a retired military recruitment officer.
“So he thinks,” Easy Earl interrupted. He was the elder statesman. “Old age has some seniority you know.”
“And the guy with the mustache and five o’clock shadow is Elia. If you get on his good side he’ll cut your hair out in the cart barn,” J Dub said. Elia had family ties to Beirut, Lebanon.
Owen waved at all of the older men then he looked at J Dub. “C . . . C . . . C . . . Can we eat n . . . n . . . n . . . now?”
“You guys help him with your names. He’s got food on his mind right now.”
“What’s his name?” Paul asked.