Day 205 CJSM

Day 205

 

 

Bapa wading in the Blue River after

Zachariah’s mini golf ball

 

 

Our Z. Tyler-man is quite the athlete; accomplished at any sport he undertakes. Wow!

At age 9-months we got him a little red plastic bat and two balls. He could stand holding the bat in one hand and drop a ball with the other, grab the bat with both hands and hit the falling ball mid-air like a ten year old kid---unbelievable! He played golf with a tiny kid’s set by age two.

We spent a great deal of time together in those early years; I celebrated his birth by retiring.

In our “free” time, which was actually all of it, we did things like travel, play games and all sorts of sports. I taught him to play golf (not that I was ever any good, but I sure enough enjoyed the amusement---absolutely hated having to walk 30 yards to retrieve an errant thrown-club).

We went to Putt-Putt golf quite often; Z. always beat me (I cheated on the score so he could win to give him encouragement) but, pretty soon, I quit cheating to help him, I couldn’t win!

That phenomena proved true soon enough on the links, too; he’s a natural! (I---am…not!)

One fine afternoon he wanted to go to the Opryland Putt-Putt in Nashville so we did.

Nashville is a tourist town---Country-city U.S.A! The putt-putt was filled with “old” people; I reckon a tour buss had brought them to eat and they decided to play golf. Anyway, here  darling little Z. Tyler strutting around all the seniors with his white-blonde hair and Adonis handsome looks tearing up the miniature course like he’s Jack Nichlaus as I slep along trying to keep up.

All the women adored the three year old and kind of pushed his old man aside with an impolite get out of my way! Boy! I wanted to tell those blue-hairs that he was my grandson---but…I’m a “polite” kind of guy! I reckon!

We get to the fifteenth hole and, sure enough, we have to putt the ball across a “river” to get to the hole. Now, that hazard was only about a foot wide. Little Z. Tyler tees up his ball and smacks it across the “creek” nearly getting another hole-in-one; the oldsters are watching.

Not to be outdone by a young whippersnapper with an “attitude” and an “aptitude” with his own private cheering section of seniors; I tee it up, take dead aim for a one-shot wonder, inhale a deep breath, let out half of it and give er my best putting stroke. Voila! Take that you old folks.

And---Blup! Right in the river for a swim. Those neophytes actually laughed and pointed.

My hero, Z. Tyler, took off for the hole to sink his “2” shot! I yelled, “Z.! Get my ball!” which by now was in full “wild white-water” mode headed over the “cliff”. He ignored my plea!

So, here I am, on my hands and knees scrambling along the “river” bank braving crocodiles and venomous snakes trying “unsuccessfully” to catch up with my escaping ball while the “tribe” of tourist natives laugh and point at the “show” while patting young Master Z. Tyler on the back celebrating his golf skills. (I still maintain one old gal asked him, “Who’s the stupid old guy trying to swim in that little creek? He sure enough can’t play golf; I’ll bet he’s even a poor caddy!?!”) Then, she gave my grandson a motherly kiss on top of his blonde head. Insulting!

Any body out there got a life preserver---or, golf lessons; maybe just a little…Prayer!?

 

C’est la vie! Really!? Always!? Hmm!

 

Ah! Cookie Jar Sweet “Hole-in-one!” Memories!