I whisper as I nudge his shoulder, “It’s 6:30, honey, time to get up.”

He rolls over to pull the covers over one shoulder, “Okay.  I’ll get up in a second.”

I walk out to the kitchen and put some water on to boil.  It’s hard for me to be up this early on a Saturday.  I don’t know how an almost 15 year old does it.

This is his fourth day in a row.


As I sprinkle coffee into the filter, I can hear rustling coming from his bedroom.  I marvel at the fact that most days, I don’t have to nudge him more than once.

He’s got it down to a system.  He gets his clubs ready the night before.  He lays his clothes out, gathers his wallet, phone and golf journal.  In the morning, he needs enough time to shower and get dressed.   I can be seen following him around nagging him to take another bite of bagel or drink more water.

We get in the car and we are off.


Depending on whether he golfs 9 or 18 or 27, I won’t hear from him again until he calls to tell me he’s on the tee box of his last hole.   This from the boy whose hip has been connected to mine for 15 years.  This from the boy who likes to know where I am at all times.


Golfing is his passion.  When he’s golfing, he is in his zone.  (When he’s not on a course, he’s practicing his swing, Googling other golfers’ swings, learning about new equipment or making a tee time.)

When he’s in his element, he isn’t worrying about what I’m doing, what’s for dinner, whether he has disappointed his dad, or what his sister might be getting that he isn’t getting.

When he is in his zone, he is free to be who he is without the influences of his life.


Who wouldn’t get out of bed at 6:30 on a Saturday to get to a place where you can feel like that?

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