So I finally made it to a golf course—actually a driving range.

Was son Jeremy’s idea. He thinks his dad would make a good golfing buddy.

My son hit his irons well and reached impressive distances with his driver. My shots were—not so good.

“I bet a lesson would help a lot.” My youngest has a way of saying unpleasant things in a pleasant way.

A lesson, really?

Doesn’t he know I was second string on the Canyon High School golf team? Why, in ’66 I came six inches from a hole in one on number seven. Six inches!

“Sure,” is what I said. “Text me that pro’s number.”