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Illustration by Catherine Chan
Golf is considered to be any number of things – an obsession, a game for old people, boring, a sport with sartorial horrors (think old men with knee-high socks), a good walk spoiled.
When my late husband had trouble falling asleep at night, he’d replay his golf game, hole by hole. And when he wanted to put me to sleep, he would replay his golf game hole by hole.
I took the game up when my kids left for college, not because I was enthralled with the idea of hitting a hard white ball with a long thin club, but because my husband, after a 20-year hiatus, had joined the local golf club. I could see the writing on the scoreboard. I would be a golf widow. It was sign up or be shut out.
My friend and I took beginner lessons at the University of British Columbia Golf Club with Ginny Golding, the first female professional in B.C.’s PGA. We laughed at our instructor’s jokes – Ginny believes “if you’re not having fun, you’re not learning” – and managed to get a few balls airborne. Most memorable, though, was being videotaped for a commercial: not demonstrating our expertise on the tee box but stuffing our faces with the free lunch included with the lessons. That was the one positive about golf – it took so long that you were guaranteed to get at least one meal before or after the round. Even better if you had a late start because then it included drinks and dinner.
If you want to take up a sport or a hobby that is full of detail, golf is the ticket. There are way more rules than pickleball, which comes a close second. I carry around a rulebook in my golf bag. But those rules are the nitty gritty. I found it was the day-to-day etiquette that took forever to learn.
My golfing began on the executive golf courses in Richmond, where a round of golf is less intimidating and less expensive – shorter in length and quicker to play. With only par threes or the odd par four, you can get by with fewer clubs, too – a driver, wedge and a putter or no driver and a couple of irons.
But I was looking forward to my first regulation 18 holes. My friend and I joined our husbands for a Sunday afternoon of golf. I’d dreamt about this opportunity. It was to be a leisurely stroll in the park on a sunny day over freshly mown green grass where we’d catch up on the week.
It didn’t work out that way. It went more like this: keep up, don’t dawdle, don’t stand in my line, don’t talk while I’m driving. I was told that I didn’t line up the ball or repair my ball mark, then reminded to rake the sand, not to play out of turn and to keep up with the group playing in front of us. (As I learned, if you don’t keep up pace of play, you risk a scolding from the course marshal, or worse, suffer cold shoulders at the 19th hole, ie., the bar, from the foursome you delayed. Like aging, golfing is not for the faint of heart.)
There was a lot to learn and every time I played, I would discover a new rule. After those 18 holes, my friend and I were exhausted, discouraged, blistered and sunburnt. But we did get drinks and dinner.
For my husband and I, golf proved to be a panacea for a marriage that would last 50 years. Empty nesters, we were now free to travel, meet new people and obsess about our game together. Once we attended a golf school in Arizona, where I’m sure we hit 25,000 balls. When I had sufficiently learned the rules, we graduated to golf vacations and even the odd tournament.
When my husband, Norm, died in 2017, I considered giving up golf. What was the point without him? It’s a game of fours and now I’d be the odd woman out. And his voice never left me on the golf course. How could golf possibly get me past my grief?
But my daughters wouldn’t hear of it. “Don’t give up golfing, Mom. Promise us you’ll give it at least a year.” So I played with wonderful women friends, and I felt as if Norm always joined me. Whenever I’d miss-hit a shot, I’d hear the reprimand: “You didn’t line up that ball correctly.” I laughed and I cried and realized he wasn’t very far away. And I stayed the course.
I continue to play golf at least twice a week and sometimes three. My score gets alarmingly high as I age, but I treasure the game for what it gives me: companionship, fresh air, exercise, mental and physical challenge.
But mostly, I play because every game is a reflection of life. On the course you see it all: patience, anger, frustration, cheating, honesty, hope, joy, boredom, excitement, achievement, failure, thoughtfulness, caring and dare I say, love.
Johanne Leach lives in Vancouver.