Right Dead in the Middle of the Cup
The wind carried the smell of the early morning, newly cut grass straight into my face. The sound of birds in a nearby tree chattered furiously. People’s whispers added to the eerie calm of intense pressure that was building inside me. My knees were bent, and my back was tilted forward as I prepared for my slow, cautious take away. My arms and shoulders started twisting around my body towards my right shoulder as though my back was a coil being wound tighter and tighter. The air in my body escaped to allow for more compression. Then a pause. A sudden explosion of my shoulders sent my body unwinding in a perfectly coordinated motion. I held on for dear life as my body hurled itself towards my left side. There was no stopping. My club struck with such a force that it blasted the golf ball 300 yards away in a matter of seconds. It was a perfect tee shot, right down the middle of the fairway on the eighteenth and last hole of the state golf tournament my senior year.
I wish I could say that my swing was developed from purity of heart, but in reality it was born from spite and hard feelings that were created from the one I wanted to gain approval and acceptance from the most, my uncle Kurt. Uncle Kurt was an intimidating, heavy set man. His six foot tall frame was covered in black, coarse hair. The same black hair clung to his head in tight permed curls. Everything he did was boisterous: the waving of his hands in jerky, direct movements as he told stories about the dumb people he had recently encountered, his sarcastic laughing that to this day still rings in my ears and sends shivers down my back, and his walk that seemed to rattle my house off its foundation every time one of his feet hit the floor.
My uncle had two
kids, Scott and Paul. Ever since I can remember, Scott and Paul were very
talented in sports. Their lives and culture revolved around sports, led by my uncle
Kurt’s constant coaching. I watched Scott and Paul as they went through their
high school sporting careers and fantasized about my chance to shoot a three
pointer, hit a homerun, make a long putt, or throw a touchdown pass as they had.
I loved going over to their house and hearing their stories of playing football
against McCook, winning a close game of basketball against
When I reached the first grade, I began competing in pitching-machine baseball, which was when my relationship with my uncle and my cousins started to change. I can still remember my first day of practice.
“Mom, where is my Seattle Mariners hat?” I yelled from my upstairs bedroom, “I need it for practice.” Not only was I old enough for pitching machine baseball, but my cousin Scott was going to be my coach! I thought this was going to be the best experience of my life; I was lucky enough to hang out with my cousin, whom I idolized, and be on the same baseball team with him. The first few weeks of practice were fun and just what I had expected. Scott was upbeat and positive with everybody, especially me. I was having fun hitting baseballs and fielding grounders with no undo pressures.
My first game was on a hot, balmy Tuesday night. My mom, dad, sister, Uncle Kurt, Aunt Judy, and Cousin Paul were there to watch Scott coach his first baseball game and to watch me play in my first pitching machine game. I was the short stop and had many balls hit to me. I played a particularly good game at short stop, along with hitting the ball well in our victory. Later that night, my dad and I went over to my uncle’s house upon his request.
During the car ride over to his house, my dad stated, “You played really well, Kyle. You hit the ball well, and the time we spent practicing to field ground-balls really paid off. Sometimes you pull your head when you swing but that will be easy to fix, just keep your head on the ball.” After my conversation with my dad, I was pumped and could not wait until my next game. However, this feeling soon disappeared.
The moment I set foot into the doorway at my uncle’s house, Uncle Kurt barked out, “You pull your head when you bat. You need to charge the slow grounders. You need to run onto and off the field at a sprint. You need to take at least ten warm up swings in the batter’s box and stop aiming and just throw the ball. The error you made in the second inning cost at least four runs. You need to lose some weight because you are slow.” By the time he was done, I felt like I was the worst baseball player in the history of baseball players. According to John Wooden, my uncle’s attitude was all wrong. “Children need someone who cares, listens and provides special support, counsel and friendship. They also need someone who is willing to stand up for them.” If my uncle had told me everything I had done wrong with compassion and sincerity, perhaps I wouldn’t have grown to resent him.
As I was walking down the eighteenth fairway, towards my golf ball, I could not help but give a little smile. There I was, the last day of state golf, on the last hole, with a one shot lead. I used to imagine this moment hundreds of times as a kid. Ironically, I did not feel any pressure or nervousness. I simply calculated my shot and swung the club. The ball landed safely on the green fifteen feet away from the hole. Knowing I only had to make par to win, and still without a trace of butterflies, I lagged my first putt so it stopped about three feet from the hole. As I waited on the green for my fellow competitors to putt out, I tried to keep focused, but my mind wondered back to the last Thanksgiving with my uncle.
Even before my uncle’s
family showed up for Thanksgiving, I noticed my dad was on edge as he was
talking to my mother. “
The only time Uncle Kurt stopped criticizing was when we sat down and ate Thanksgiving lunch. It was a wonderfully prepared lunch, which my mom slaved over the day before cooking turkey, mashed potatoes, corn, roast beef, green bean salad, bread, and apple pie. After everybody had finished, my mom remembered that she needed to go to Quilters-Delight before they closed that night. My mom asked the family if it would be okay if she went. They all said, including Kurt, that it would be fine. As soon as my mom walked out the back door, Uncle Kurt remarked, “How come she thinks she can just leave when we are here? This is not the first time it has happened either. She is very rude.” This time Kurt had gone too far. My dad finally stood up to his older brother and told him that he was way out of line. My uncle looked up with shock in his face and stormed out the door.
His family stayed behind and tried to act like nothing had happened. We visited and watched television the rest of the day as Don stayed at home and sulked. Everything was fine until Kurt decided to call and talk to his family. The next thing I knew, my dad and my two cousins went down into the basement of my house and began arguing. My dad kept his cool and made it very clear he was not going to put up with their hostility on Thanksgiving and that it would probably be best if they left. I was stunned over the events that had taken place and had mixed feelings towards my uncle and my cousins for attacking my mom, especially since they knew who my mom was and how she lived her life.
My mother is 5’5” with a slender build and brown hair that stops just short of her gold glasses. I remember the day I told her she needed a hair update. “Mom, I like the perm and all, but it’s kinda out of date.” She responded, “I wear my hair this way because it is easy to take care of, and that gives me more time to spend with you, Kyle, but you are probably right.” The soft weathered lines on her face showed hints of the many years of hard work as a mother and a teacher.
My mother taught 3rd and 4th grade for twenty years at the rural school R-6, which was a little, country elementary school. She always talked about her kids with a smile on her face. ”Julie is really smart at math; she is doing 5th grade curriculum and she is only in the 3rd grade! Jeff is getting tall; he really comes in handy when I need stuff from the tall cabinets.” My mom wanted each and every one of her students to learn to their full capabilities. She set up advanced classes so the smarter kids and gave extra help after school to the students who fell behind. When the last bell of the school day went off, she would go outside with the kids and make sure each one of them had a ride home.
After every long school day, my mom came home with slouched shoulders and tired eyes. Despite the exhaustion, the first words out of my mother’s mouth were “Are you hungry, Kyle? Are you sure you don’t want a snack? You should eat before you go to practice.” After telling her no repeatedly, I would have to give in and have something to eat, so she would be satisfied that I was taken care of. Although, my mother was tired, she could not take a break, because I have an older sister named Brandie who needed a lot of care.
When my sister was nine years old, she was diagnosed with Crohn’s disease, a life long disease of the digestive system. Every day and night, my sister had migraine headaches and became so weak she could not take care of herself. She had changed from the fun-loving, athletic, brilliant, young girl to one that was grumpy and sick. My sister needed twenty-four hour care, and it was my mother’s job to do that. She was always busy going to the Omaha doctors’ offices, cooking macaroni and cheese, reading my little pony stories, and holding her hand at nights when my sister could not fight off the tears. Without my mom, my sister would not have had the strength to survive her childhood, let alone earn her dream job as a medical technician.
My mother has worked hard her whole life and loved every minute of it. Even to this day, she continually finds people to help. Many people’s life long dream is to make a difference in the world. My mother’s goal however, is to make a world of difference to each and every person she meets, by doing little things that make their life better.
To this day, I do not understand why my uncle attacked my mother, but that was not what bothered me the most about that thanksgiving. Later that night, my mom and I went to the movie store to return a movie. As I was ready to jump out of the car, my mom did something she had never done before. She asked me for my opinion. “Kyle, do you think I was wrong by leaving Thanksgiving?” This question threw me for a little bit. I did not know what to say at first, but then the most regretted words I have ever said came out of my mouth, ”Yeah Mom, it probably wasn’t good.” I turned and stepped out of the car to take the videos back in. When I returned, my mom was in tears. At that moment, it felt like I had been punched in the stomach. Why had I taken the side of the one person I had grown to resent the most over my mother? From that moment on, I vowed to myself that I was going to stand up for the family that supported me. At college I had read a book called Traits of a Healthy Family. It described our situation perfectly. “Your family is what you’ve got… It’s your limits and your possibilities. Sometimes you’ll get so far away from it you’ll think you’re outside its influence forever, then before you figure out what’s happening, it will be right beside you, pulling the strings. Some people get crushed by their families. Others are saved by them”(qtd in Curran 1). Up to that point, my uncle’s family had been “crushing” me. They made me feel as though I was worthless. That night, I let
them go and focused my life on my mom, my dad, and my sister.
A couple of weeks later, I was in eighth grade basketball practice. I had been nursing a pulled hamstring. Scott happened to show up in the gym to watch the practice. On the sidelines, he yelled, “Kyle, quit playing like a girl and start hustling.” Frustration started building up inside of me. Later after practice, I went up to Scott and explained that my leg was hurt. He looked at me and said, “You’re a pussy.” Keeping my promise to myself, I looked at him and said, “I hate you.” Three little words of defiance sent our two families into a battle over who was right and who was wrong. Our families ended up parting ways and never talking again. I set out to prove to myself and to my uncle’s family that I could be successful on my own.
Walking up to my ball, I realized that this putt meant more than becoming a state champion. I finally had the chance to prove myself. My uncle Kurt and my cousin Scott could only in their wildest dreams ever have the opportunity to win state golf. There I was three feet away from the hole. My knees and arms began to quiver. I took a deep breath and thought to myself, “Kyle, you have nothing to prove. Make or miss this putt, your dad, mom, and sister will stand by you just like you did for them.” Fred Shoemaker, a famous golf instructor stated, “The opposite of fear is letting go. The opposite of fear is trust. Only when you become aware of the sensations and the conversations you have inside your head can you let them go (Shoemaker 203). That putt was not stuck with spite and fear of not living up to my uncle Don but rather with love and courage. I had no doubt as soon as it came off my putter. Right dead in the middle of the cup. (2658)
Works Cited
Curran, Dolores.
Traits of a Healthy Family.
Ballantine Books, 1983.
Hedge, Dawn. “Coaches
Need to Mentor, Too.” 1998.
University Communications Service. 26 April 2007
http://www.montana.edu/wwwpb/home/coach.html.
Shoemaker, Fred, and Pete Shoemaker. Extraordinary Golf. New