I found this little essay while cleaning up the drive on the laptop. Written a couple of years ago I recall many conversations with the Almighty on the topic of adversity, temptation, and gratitude.
To Amanda: so you thought your bee sting was bad.
Along with friend and golfing partner the “the pro from
Black Butte” and another twosome, father son team from Hawaii (recently
transplanted to Oreegone) a beautiful morning on the links at Quail Valley was
being enjoyed by all.
“Bee’s seem aggressive,” says father
.
“Yeh it is that time of year,” notes Yours Truly.
Number 11, just completed in an ignominious fashion with at
two pars, a bogey and a double. Leaving to your imagination who got what. (You
are probably wrong.) Approaching number 12, a hole which as always seemed kind
to Yours Truly; a well struck drive is secured by “The Pro, Yours Truly, and Son.”
Father drifts in adverse fashion to the right.
“Things are looking good,” Yours Truly thinks.” The second
shot puts the ball in the rough on the left but with a well struck five iron
lands gloriously close to the pin. Not in regulation but a par putt is within
reason. Father recovers, The Pro hacks off to the right and Son drops on the
fringe.
Confidently approaching the green Yours Truly is thinking ‘ha, I got
this one.’ As Son is away he is first up, right line but short, Dad, blows it
completely sailing past the hole and The Pro puts it on the lip. Yours Truly is
welling with confidence when a reflexive swat at the neck releases a sharp
twinge of pain. “Son of a b,” is the
wail, when he looks down to see a bee in his last moments on earth.
“What’s wrong,” asks The Pro?
“Bee sting,” replies Yours Truly. A sharp pain building in
his neck.
“Well you are up,” he states flatly.
The first putt is short, the second misses by the width of
the lip, and Yours Truly ends with a three putt and double bogey. Walking back
to the bee, now a cadaver, and mutters softly, “God one, me zero.”
