That’s Life: 7-23-2010

"Jack of all trades, master of none" goes the expression: one person cannot be good at everything. As we go through life and have different experiences we find that we're better at some things than others. We tend to stick with those things and enjoy doing them because success feels good.  There is a limit to how many times you can try your hand at the same task, failing each time, before you say, "I'm done here" or before someone else who has to deal with your ineptitude asks you to, "Please pack your knives and go."

I received a set of golf clubs as a retirement gift from my husband. I have watched golf on television and appreciate the skill and finesse it requires. I have played a couple of times but it is not a sport I am really interested in. So while he was very excited to give me my gift, saying that it is something we can do together because it is something he enjoys, I was more excited about the new shirt and hat that came with the gift than the actual clubs themselves.

There was an episode of "Everybody Loves Raymond" in which Ray and his wife go golfing together and how, it turned out, it was not such a great idea. Besides the ribbing he got from his friends who saw her on the course, it seemed that, while playing together sounded good in theory, in fact it was not. But, determined to give it a shot, my husband and I went to the driving range and, after avoiding all of the gifts left on the ground by geese, made our way to the tees.

Wearing my golf shirt, glove and denim skirt (can you say 'loser'?), I took out a club, unwrapped it from its protective plastic sheathing and took some practice swings. It was not pretty. I appeared to be 'pulling an Elin' - using the club as a bat instead of a club. While my husband desperately tried to give me pointers, I wasn't listening; I was having fun. Even though I was being pointed and stared at by a group of eight-year-old boys who had just finished a lesson, I was not to be deterred.

A neighbor of ours arrived and took the space next to us on the range. "Miriam," he said, "I didn't know you played."  I shook my head. "I don't," and added, "but it's something we can do together, right?" as I motioned to my husband.  My husband smirked, already regretting this grand idea although he didn't say so. And then the wheels really came off the wagon.

"There's something wrong with my glove," I said to my husband. He looked at my hand and saw that I had successfully torn through the leather glove. "What did you do?" he exclaimed, but I answered that I thought the glove was defective. "The glove isn't defective, Miriam," he responded, but again, I was not deterred. In his wisdom, he had bought a three-pack of gloves. So when I destroyed the first one, I just took out another. My neighbor looked askance at my husband. "You bought her a three pack?" he asked, to which my husband replied, "I know who I'm dealing with."

I'm sure that was a dig but I may have earned it because about a minute later, I broke my six iron. The head of the club came right off as I made contact with the ball and then flew across the grass, right after the ball. "My club broke," I said to my husband, showing him the part of the club still in my hand, adding, "I think it's defective." Eyes open wide and more than a little bit shocked, my husband looked at the evidence.  "The club isn't defective," he answered.  "What did you do!" I swore I had not done anything more than hit the ball and when he asked me where the rest of the club was, I pointed to the grass.

After showing them what remained of my club, he asked our neighbors to hold their play for a minute while he retrieved the other half. Looks of sheer exasperation swept across the faces of the men around me. "Maybe you need another sport, Miriam," said my neighbor. I nodded in agreement, said I already had one, and thanked G-d that the eight years olds had already left.

Then I ripped through the second glove and that was it. It was time to pack up. No one was having anymore.

"Maybe you should take some lessons," suggested my nephew when I told him about my outing. He told me not to be embarrassed because "golf isn't as easy as it looks."  I never thought it looked easy, I said. It does, however, require finesse which is (clearly) not something I have and, therefore, I may have to be given a couple of private lessons before being permitted to use my clubs again in public.

MLW