I believe the definition of golf should be reinvention. Finding yourself. To be yourself openly and honestly. Developing character through adversity. To evolve as a human being.

Growing up, I was timid, weak and very shy. I was a product of the fear and humiliation I suffered growing up. Fear of being mentally and physically abused by my classmates. I was made fun of because of my situation in life. I grew up poor in a rich town and wore the wrong clothes, had the wrong haircut and rode a piece of junk bicycle. My self confidence could not be measured it was so low.

As a child, I would rarely engage in speaking to people I did not know. I was uncomfortable being around kids my age and found it difficult to make friends. I was self conscious about every aspect of my being.

The teasing and mental abuse grew as I waded my way through middle school.

Burned in my memory is the thought of wanting to be like everyone else, to fit in. I wanted to be accepted for who I was and not fear the first period in school. Years went by, and I only became more withdrawn.

Today, I don’t know why I wanted to be accepted so bad by these punks.

One day when I was around 12 years old, my grandfather asked if I wanted to go to the golf course with him. He had been trying to get me to play golf for awhile and I always said no.

This time though, I said yes.

My grandfather was my rock, my guiding light, my hero.

My grandfather was a relatively short man who was a tumbler (gymnast) in his younger years. He could still walk on his hands and do flips off a diving board well in to his 60s. His forearms were made of stone and he had thick beautiful silver hair.

We got in his car and drove to Lake Hefner Golf Course in Oklahoma City. I don’t remember much other than how everyone in the clubhouse and driving range knew my grandfather, as if he were a rock star or celebrity. It made me proud to know my grandfather was accepted and respected by these men.

Soon after, my grandfather appeared at my house with a cut down set of golf clubs. Nothing special, a bit rusty, worn grooves and grips that made an old set of worn tires look new. I remember just staring at them and finding them difficult to swing, let alone hit a ball where I wanted it to go.

Time passed, but my grandfather was far from giving up on me. Each time he would come over, he would give me an easy tip.

“Hold the club like this, stand like this, eventually it will all become second nature,” he would say.

In my neighborhood, our home had a tiny yard. There really wasn’t anywhere to strike a golf ball except for our local neighborhood park. I guess all those subtle tips my grandfather gave me had taken hold. I don’t really remember, but I must have practiced holding and standing with the club off an on in my bedroom.

One afternoon after school, I went down to the park with my friend Randy to hit golf balls. Neither of us had a clue what we were doing, but we played our first round of golf. We named the holes like they do at Augusta. Our holes were named more after actual objects though than flowers, “basketball pole” or the “short tree next to the big one.”

The next time I saw my grandfather, I asked him to teach me a little more.

I remember him showing me how to grip the club lightly, as if I were holding a baby bird. Then he issued a challenge,

“When you can hit the practice green at the driving range 6 out of 10 times, then we can think about playing 9 holes.”

Weeks went by. My friend Randy and I were playing almost every day after school. The driving range wasn’t a real option for us at the time due to the expense. So we practiced in our local park.

Finally, grandfather took me to the driving range. I was pretty nervous as we pulled in to the course. I was afraid I would let my grandfather down and I would embarrass him in front of his friends.

The green was roughly 50 or 60 yards away, but seemed like 1,000 miles. The green was oversized and the ground was flat. Even a skulled shot had a chance of making it. That day, I was able to hit the green almost every time.

Something began to change inside of me, although I didn’t realize it at the time. Golf was working its magic. The result of every shot is the direct response to what happens before you strike the ball. Meeting my grandfather’s challenge, easy now as I look back, was a life-changing event.

Time went by and my grandfather would praise my progress athletically. This built my confidence and enjoyment of the game. The more I practiced, the better I got. For once in my life, I felt a sense of pride.

My passion for the game increased.

Like any young boy, I would lose my temper and get angry when I would make a triple or double or even quadruple bogey. I equated the score on the card with who I was. Grandfather was quick to remind me, “Forget that last shot, all that matters is the next.”

It took years to fully appreciate the lessons my grandfather and the game were teaching me. Getting mad just makes the game even more difficult. The game is hard enough on its own, let alone pouring more difficulty on top of it.

It wasn’t until my early 30s when I figured out what a great gift my grandfather had given me. These lessons have made me strong inside and out.

The truth the ball reveals is the kindest thing it can ever do for you. Life in general isn’t perfect, neither is a round of golf.

Play it where it lies.

Everything worth having is something you have to fight and claw to get. Whenever I have a terrible round, I remember the words of my grandfather and I leave with a little smile remembering the wonderful times we had together.

Golf has been paramount for building my self esteem, my self worth, my self pride.

I have never met a good golfer who does not have a high level of self respect and pride. Golf has made them stronger mentally. When I play with golfers who kick their balls out of trouble, or fudge the scorecard, I see them exposing their true inner being, their character.

These people have not learned the lessons golf is trying to teach them. Perhaps they did not have a wise grandfather guiding them on their golf journey.

A low score is just for ego. Score doesn’t really matter. How you carry yourself during a match is the true revelation. How you respond to adversity, pressure and even a lousy round is what matters.

This game of golf has taught me self confidence and pride. Through golf, I was able to reinvent myself.

Thank you Bill Lewis, words can not express my gratitude for the gifts given.

Happy Father’s Day.