My dad and I haven't been close for a while, but my mother passed recently, and it kicked his ass so bad that he's trying to mend our relationship. Not the ass kicking I had planned for him, but he's facing himself now.
I'm going to send the new song Sunnyland to him. Before he was my step father, I remember playing catch with him at my mom's apartments in a small grass patch, and the lyrics remind me of that.
Anyway, here's a story:
My dad and I were forced (by my mother) to go out and have a bonding experience. We decided to go to Wild Island, the nearby arcade, and play mini-golf. I was pretty young at the time, I think it was around seventh grade or so.
At about the fifth hole, he tried some shit. It was a straight-shot obstacle with only a jagged hill between the start and the hole. So after I hit the ball, he went and picked it up. I've always had an OCD problem, so, being a kid and not understanding OCD, and seeing my dad move the ball I'd just hit into a perfect position for a double-shot on the hole, really dug at me. He walked back and placed the ball in front of me. "Keep going until you get a hole-in-one," he said. He must've been stalling so we could say the bonding went well and justify it with the time we had taken.
I was irritated, but I listened. I hit the ball again. It was close to the hole, and again lined up for an easy double-shot finish. Until my dad repeated the sequence. This went on and on, and with no one was behind us on a week-day evening, I got to keep retrying my luck. Over and over the ball landed just beside the hole, and I was getting really upset at the repetition and dad's shit tips on how to play mini-golf.
He placed the ball in front of me. "Go on. Don't swing at it right away," he said. He put his hands up for emphasis, the way dads do. "Just focus. Swing lightly."
I dangled the club over the ball in a few practice shots. Then, again, I put club to golf ball.
And again, I missed the hole.
He brought the ball back. "C'mon, man! Just focus."
I shouted a cluster of protests and excuses at him and smashed the ball into the starting mat. "I can't fucking do it!" I screamed. I kicked the ball with my toes. It shot across the small course and bounced right over the hole and against the brick, only to retreat into the hole from the air.
A hole-in-one.
"Well, that's one way to do it," he said. He looked at me and his shock turned into a smile. "I told you if you just kept focus... Well, I guess luck works, too." He pulled me in close and rattled me.
I wanted to stay angry, but I couldn't mask my glee. I trudged behind him as we walked to the hole to retrieve the ball.
"Come on." He said, stepping onto walkway. "Let's try the next hole."
(Also, because it's the shit, here's a link to Sunnyland, just in time for Father's Day!):
