Golf Was the Vehicle

Growing up, none of us were particularly great golfers.

We weren’t traveling to junior tournaments or spending endless hours trying to perfect our swings.

Looking back, that never really mattered.

Because golf, at least in our family, was never really about golf.

It was the vehicle.

Every summer, my dad had a tradition with each of us kids.

We each got one individual golf outing, just us and him.

One full day.

The night before, we would sleep downstairs in the guest room, knowing we had an early wake-up call before everyone else in the house.

There was something about those mornings that felt special before the day had even started.

We would quietly head out the door while the rest of the house slept and make our first stop: Waffle House.

Without fail, I ordered the same thing every time - a waffle and a cup of chocolate milk.

We would sit at the counter watching the line cooks work away, plates moving in every direction, coffee pouring nonstop.

And we would talk. 

About golf.

About school.

About friends.

About nothing important and everything important all at once.

At the time, it just felt like breakfast. Looking back, it was so much more than that.

After breakfast, we would head to the local par-3 course.

The stakes were simple: the winner got a Powerade from the clubhouse after the round.

We weren’t playing for trophies or bragging rights, just a cold drink and a little pride.

But that wasn’t really the point either.

The point was the time.

Three different summer days.

Three different kids.

My dad making sure each of us got our own time with him.

And throughout the year, golf became the backdrop for family time as well.

We would head down to the club and play the par-3 course together, my dad and the three of us.

The match usually ended somewhere around the 6th or 7th hole.

By then, one brother would be basking in victory while the other two were somewhere between frustration and heartbreak.

But even then, golf was just the excuse.

What I remember most are the conversations.

We talked about everything during those rounds. School, life, sports, friendships.

The kind of conversations that happen naturally when you have nowhere to be except the next tee box.

Golf slowed things down.

It created space.

And without us fully realizing it at the time, it gave my dad something every parent hopes for: uninterrupted time with his kids.

As I’ve gotten older, I’ve come to realize those rounds had very little to do with becoming better golfers.

What they gave us was far more valuable.

Memories.

Time together.

A relationship built somewhere between Waffle House breakfasts, Powerades on the line, and walks down short fairways.

This Father’s Day, I’m reminded that some of the best gifts a father gives his children are not the big moments, but the ordinary ones that quietly become unforgettable.

And for us, golf just happened to be the reason we got to spend that time together.