My golfing life began with a gift from my mom. In 1992, she gave me and my dad golf lessons for Christmas. I was nine. My dad traveled a lot, so this was my mom’s way of getting us to spend time together.
It is, hands down, the greatest gift I’ve received.
Every week we’d head to the simple indoor facility near our home in Northern California. The pro owned a shop, and tucked in the back of his golf store were a few simulators. In 1992, this type of store was a relatively novel idea.
I’d have my 45 minutes lesson, and then I’d kill 45 minutes in the shop, putting and touching every club in the store. When we’d leave, our instructor would hand us a VHS tape of our lesson. I have memories of my dad watching his lessons, trying to soak up any knowledge he could. This new game was confounding, even for a stellar athlete like my dad.