Blogs
Grass Over Turf
By Bill Levine
As a grade schooler in the late 1950s, I really missed my dad on Saturdays. Dad would close down his dental practice at noon, come home and then jump into a car with Grandpa and a few racing pals and head to the local horse track.
From mom’s grumblings, I got the idea that the so-called Sport of Kings was sleazy, so why would dad play horses instead of playing catch at home? I later understood why when he said he bought the Boston Record American because of its racing charts.
The 1960s, though, ushered in a new dad. We joined a nearby country club, and dad became fascinated with the backswing, instead of the back stretch. I was happier now on Saturdays because I could occasionally join dad at the pool or the 19th Hole Grill. Unlike the mysterious touts, I got to know dad’s golfing partners,
Dad and I even started to play a few holes together. This was a great father-son bonding activity once I learned how to replace divots. We both got a mini-workout exercise of trekking the hilly layout of the club. Undoubtedly, dad thought this was better than watching horses exercise.
One round when I was 15 was transcendent for both of us. It was the Father/Son club tournament. This one day dad’s advice stuck. I didn’t pick my head up, and my shots went airborne. it was a best ball format, and we used my crushed drive off the seventh hole. We shot 46, good enough to win. It was a highlight reel for us then, and forever, as it was our lone joint trophy.
Dad, though, accumulated numerous trophies over the next four decades along with a raft of golfing buddies. Eventually he left the country club, but then we moved to a new home, a couple of stiff three woods from the Brookline Municipal course. This became his second home.
In his 70s dad forged a new career as a state health consultant. Whacking a Pinnacle was not a job requirement, but it helped when vendors invited him to toney courses. On one such luxe links event dad was gifted a set of Calloways. These were his last and best set of clubs.
About 10 or years after dad acquired the Calloways he offered me the clubs. I was saddened by the offer because dad was now giving up golf, his sweet spot of conviviality, with his athleticism gone. But bottom line, I was honored to inherit the clubs.
If dad stayed with the dubious Sport of Kings and fashioned a life at the track, I’m sure that his parting memento to me would have been a box full of losing parimutuel tickets or other heartbreaks.
— Bill Levine
Bill Levine is a retired IT professional and active freelance writer from Belmont, Massachusetts.