It's a hole in one for mother and son

Parenting: Her son wasn't athletic at all – but she's pleased at what he's learned from golf.

By Lauren Reece Flaum

from the June 4, 2007 edition

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It was late on a warm April afternoon in Iowa City with the school year winding down and the suggestion of summer on the horizon. I was driving up the gravel lane to our old brick farmhouse when my son, Chester, who was then 13 years old, bounded down the front porch steps with the fervor of a hungry beast.

"Mom!" he blurted out, "can I have $150 for an all-you-can-golf pass for the summer?" And in case this request wasn't impulsive enough, he added, "Right now – the guys are all getting one – right now!"

To my knowledge, this child had never picked up a golf club. This child was also a poor athlete, had poor impulse control, and did not know the meaning of a dollar.

I – in a constant state of mild irritation, always juggling the myriad balls of motherhood – habitually used the "automatic no" when my kids pleaded for money or other extravagances demanding my attention.

But suddenly, right then with the sun still high in the afternoon sky, I heard myself say, "That sounds great!" It came out free of ambivalence or sticky second thoughts. And I surprisingly added, "Let me write you the check right here on the hood of the car."

Where I grew up, in the Jewish suburbs of New York, golf was a country club sport. People who had money, who drove certain cars, who wore certain clothes, and had particular mannerisms played golf. Most people did not play.

But when my husband, Michael, and I, seeking broader horizons, moved from Manhattan to Iowa 18 years ago, I took note that in Iowa, golf is a common man's sport. Ordinary people – nurses, teachers, and shopkeepers – all play golf. Little towns all over Iowa have their own municipal courses that cost no more to play than the price of a swim in a public pool. In fact, I've heard that the state of Iowa has more golf courses per capita than any other state in the nation.

Recently, on an unseasonably cold April day two years after I wrote that $150 check, Chet and his gaggle of golf buddies had come off the greens and into the clubhouse at the University of Iowa's Finkbine Golf Course to watch the final holes of the Masters Golf Tournament. As they were glued to the drama on the set – small-town Iowa boy versus Tiger Woods – a phone call came in to the pro shop. A reporter from ESPN was looking for the coach who had rejected Zach Johnson – the soon-to-be green-jacketed winner of the Masters – from the Iowa team years ago. The guys went wild.

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