Page 39 of Finding Parker

PARKER. Kenton paused and leaned onto the shaft of his putter, “I don’t make promises I can’t keep, and I’ll never say something I don’t truly mean. So, I will rarely provide assurance to anyone about anything. Inevitably something goes to hell in a hand basket and it later makes me out to be a liar. But let me tell you something Parker Bale. And I can assure you of this.”

Nervous of where this conversation was headed, I stood in wait. Kenton invited me over to talk. In our first post contract conversation he expressed his displeasure regarding speaking on the phone, and had always waited for me to make some type of contact with him. My uninvited arrivals at his home had become quite the norm.

“Victoria can cook like no other,” he smiled, looked down, and smoothly swung his putter.

This was a very difficult twenty five foot putt on a surface which was far from flat. As the ball appeared to be headed three feet to the right of the cup he turned away. Now facing me and smiling, he raised his right hand to his ear and closed his eyes.

“Listen,” he whispered.

I chose to watch.

As the golf ball topped the crest of the path it was traveling along, it began to gain speed and roll to the left. Now racing directly toward the cup, it was apparently on the right path all along. I grinned and continued to watch as Kenton stood with his hand to his ear and his eyes closed.

Ker-plunk.

“I love that sound,” he breathed.

“It sure didn’t look like it was headed in that direction,” I shook my head in disbelief.

“It was an easy lie to read, Parker. I figured it’d break about three feet. It did,” he said as he walked toward the cup.

“There was a number of ways for me to get there. None would have been wrong. Temperature, time of day, Downes’ maintenance of the green, the force in which my putter makes contact with the ball,” he paused as he pulled the ball from the cup.

“All of these things have an effect on the putt. We don’t all read the green the same, Parker. But putting is like making the commitment to have sex. Everything has to be perfect, or it’s just another stroke on your scorecard. Once you pull the trigger there’s no changing things. So, take all the time you need to prepare. And when you commit, know deep in the pit of your gut it’s what is right, because you only have one chance to do things properly.”

Kenton providing me with advice regarding the sacred nature of sex felt hypocritical at first. As I stood and considered what he said, and the fact he said it, I placed more value on the statement. His advice was sound and solid. I suppose there’s no one person more apt to provide accurate information on securing your home from a burglar than the burglar himself.

“I won’t have sex with Victoria,” I blurted.

“Ever?” he looked confused.

“Well, I shouldn’t say never. But I won’t until we’re married,” I rolled my shoulders forward and looked down at the surface of the green.

Feeling rather embarrassed, I stood quietly as I waited for Kenton to respond. Most don’t understand or agree with saving sex for marriage. When people learn the existence of a twenty-three year old male virgin, they immediately claim he is a liar. Upon assurance the statement is an accurate one they assume there must be something wrong with him. It’s virtually impossible for people in this day and age to digest such a thing. Almost always, upon learning of my virginity, the remark is something along the line of why?

“Interesting. And, I must say, quite admirable,” he paused mid-stride and nodded his head as he walked toward the shaded upper deck.

“It’s how I was raised,” I said proudly as I followed him toward the deck.

“By your grandmother?” he asked as he sat down.

I nodded my head, “Yes sir.”

“You’re a virgin?”

“Yes sir.”

“And you expect you’ll wait to have sex until you’re married?”

“I don’t expect I will. I’m quite certain of it. I owe it to my grandmother. And to myself, I suppose. I’ve waited this long, I’m not going to sacrifice a lifelong belief for an evening of pleasure.”

“I admire you, Parker. I certainly do. So, how’s long has it been?” he asked as he positioned his face over the pitcher of tea and inhaled a breath through his nose.

The thought of Kenton admiring me was very reassuring. It provided me with a sense of achievement and filled me with self-worth to think of someone such as Kenton admired me for my choices in life. In our time together, he always provided me with two things – sound advice and a warm feeling in my heart.

“Peach. Fabulous,” he smiled as he raised the pitcher.

“What? How long?” I was confused by his question.