Once we boarded the shuttle, I pulled out my phone and sent a text to my daddy.
Me:Hey Daddy. I’m trying something new today. You would be proud of me. It’s golf. I’m headed for my first ever golf lesson.
Daddy:GM shug. Look at you stretching your wings and trying new things. Your daddy is very proud of you.
Me:Thanks dad. I’ll text you when it’s over and let you know how it went. You okay? How’s your ankle?
Daddy:Charmaine is making me rest it. She won’t hardly let me breathe.
Charmaine was his lady friend.
Me:Good. I love you. Talk to you soon.
I put my phone away and realized that we had arrived at the golf course. The ten of us exited the shuttle bus and walked to the grassy knoll a few feet from the driving range as we were directed by the driver.
The smell of freshly cut grass was almost pungent. I usually liked that smell, but here, it was almost too much. I glanced around at the other women as I took a small sip of my drink. I was glad that I’d listened to Bryanna and purchased a cute matchy-matchy golf outfit. Even though we were all supposed to be beginners, everybody was dressed for the occasion. I didn’tsee one pair of biker shorts, one graphic tee, or anything like that. The ladies understood the assignment.
“I saw that you had Preston Wilcox spotting you at the weight bench last night,” one of the women said to another.
My ears perked up.
The woman in question pretended to fan herself as she allowed her eyes to roll back in her head. “And what a spotting, it was.”
Preston Wilcox got around.
“Did it go on well beyond the walls of the gym?” another woman asked.
“I’ll never tell.”
“You can have him,” a sultry blonde chimed in, throwing her hand in dismissal of Wilcox. “I have my eyes on Matt Babbitt.”
Chatter erupted amongst the women. Apparently, Matt Babbitt was a hot commodity. I knew who he was. He was the team’s Tight End. He didn’t have anything on Spencer.
“Good morning, ladies.” The voice of the instructor interrupted the chatter. “Please follow me. We’re going to move closer to the practice range.”
We followed her, stopping near a huge plastic bin filled with yellow golf balls.
“I’m Alyssa, and I’ll be your instructor for the day. Has anyone ever swung a club before?” Some of the women raised their hands. My arms stayed glued to my sides. “Okay. I’m going to give a quick demonstration for those who haven’t ever swung a club.”
I zeroed in on her movements. I didn’t necessarily expect to master golf; I was just hoping to ignite a fire under myself, maybe give myself the urge to take lessons back home. So much deal-making, and so many money conversations took place on the golf course. It was a skill that I felt could be useful to me. I watched as she demonstrated the basic grip of the club.
“First rule,” Alyssa called out, “the Step-back Rule. Everybody will have their own practice mat. Your mat is your world. It’s your island, . . . and anything outside the island, as the kids would say, is lava. If your best girlfriend is on her mat, everything around the mat is lava. You should never be standing there. You need to stand at least three to fourbigsteps back. I prefer you standing on the concrete.
“Rule two, never look back. When you’re on your mat, you need your eyes on the ball or your eyes on the field. It’s gonna be tempting to turn around to talk and laugh with friends . . . Don’t do it. Turning around while holding a club can cause you to swing the metal head of the club right into someone’s face. Seen it happen. It ain’t pretty.
“Third rule, no wandering. The same way you would tell a child not to chase a ball, I’m telling you, don’t chase a ball. Even if that ball rolls off your mat, leave it. You’re gonna think you can grab it real quick and be on your way. Leave it. Don’t even step out into the grass to grab your ball. Other people down the line will still be swinging. If a ball is hit and goes wonky, . . . it can hit you in the temple. Remember, if the ball is off your mat, it’s in the lava. We don’t ever willingly step into lava. We never say,I’ll step into the lava for just a second.Lava is lava. It’ll burn you.
“Fourth rule, and then we’ll move over to the mats. Check your behind. And by that, I don’t mean your tush. I mean, visually check and see what’s behind you. Before every single swing—with no exceptions—you need to look behind yourself and make sure that the coast is clear. Always presume that someone has walked up behind you.” She took a deep breath. “Okay, head over to the table and grab a glove, then head to one of the golf bags and grab your 7-iron.”
We all walked to the golf bags, but nobody took out a club. Which one was the 7-iron, and how would we know? We were new.
Alyssa chuckled. “That’s an old golf pro’s joke. They’re all 7-irons. So, grab one and come on over to the mats.”
I pulled out a club. It was heavy and cold in my hand. I put it up to my shoulder like a baseball bat and made my way over to where women were strategically positioning themselves on mats. The mats were laid out in a straight line. It only took me a minute to figure out that the ladies were trying to position themselves close to friends so they could laugh and talk. Since I didn’t know anyone, I took a random spot in the middle that didn’t seem like it would be in the middle of a friendship group.
“Just a few more things we need to cover,” Alyssa told us once we had all selected mats. She asked about left-handed players. A few of the ladies spoke up. Alyssa exchanged the clubs they had selected with clubs from a different bag. Apparently, lefties needed a different club from righties. Then she explained the gloves, followed by her advice on adjusting the grip for women with longer fingernails. “Last thing I wanna cover is about the girls. Not you ladies, but the girls you carry around with you. The boobs, the breasts, the ta-tas, . . . if you will.”
Since the girls that I carried around with me were of the DD variety, my ears perked up, and I paid attention. She demonstrated some of the physical adjustments we could make to have our breasts be less of a factor in our swings.
