. . . and on the first swing, at the first tee, this happened:
I went par-three golfing with The Spouse and The Eldest Boy at a nine-hole course over the weekend, used The Spouse's "old" clubs and could not believe it when the ball and the head of the 6 iron went flying in front of me just after I made contact with the ball. (The ball wound up in a decent spot on the fairway, regardless of my decapitating the club.)
After we all stopped laughing, I worried that this was some kind of bad omen for our little outing, my first time on a golf course since before I had the twins, in what seems like a lifetime ago. But, all in all, it wasn't bad. Whenever I started doing miserably -- which was whenever I lost the tiny bit of patience I possess -- I just picked up my ball and said, "I'm all done on this one." Things went much smoother that way.
I think it helped that The Spouse did not keep score. (We can get very competitive. Scrabble games can spawn epic arguments.) But who am I kidding? He probably kept score in his head and has just grown wise enough after all these years not to say them out loud . . . thus ensuring another golf outing in the future.
For his part, The Eldest Boy did quite well, parring a great number of holes despite this having been his first time on the links in a while. I'm sure, if I asked him, he knows what he shot, and probably what I shot as well. However, I feel just fine not knowing. It'd be too depressing.