A father, a son and a shared golf experience at Pinehurst’s Cradle of Golf

When I was a boy of fourteen, my father was so ignorant I could hardly stand to have the old man around. But when I got to be twenty-one, I was astonished at how much he had learned in seven years. -- Quote attributed to Mark Twain

The way I figure it, based on Twain’s math I’m only three years away from credibility in my son’s eyes. I’ll have to overlook the rolled eyes, clinging to the hope that he might come to see some semblance of logic in the things that I have to say. It won’t come easy, but my best hope lies in a place where we already treat each other in a gentlemanly fashion – the golf course.

He’s standing over an eight-foot putt for par on the 5th hole at Pinehurst No. 2. Never have I wanted to see a person make a par putt more in my life. Not Rory or Bryson or Tiger, all of whom have had pressure putts like this at Pinehurst. The putt is fairly straight and uphill.

The lefty golfer standing over this putt is an 18-year-old kid who may be one of the nicest people I’ve ever met. He’s just finished his senior year in high school in Concord, NC, with college on the horizon. He’s my son, Jake, and he loves golf.

We recently made the trek to Pinehurst, the self-proclaimed “Cradle of Golf,” to play a few courses, including the legendary No. 2. It was a chance for us to bond, smile, encourage each other and watch as the golf courses (notably No. 2) kicked our butts.

It also made me think back to when, as a teen, I played golf with my dad. My old man suffered the same fate as me regarding Twain’s 14 to 21 Syndrome. I would roll my eyes and tell my fellow teenaged buddies that my dad just didn’t get it.

In time I came to realize that my father was a hero. He fought in World War II with the first US troops to enter Berlin. He was justifiably proud that he helped topple Hitler and the fascism of Nazi Germany. He came home to the USA and, even though he was a public school kid from Jacksonville, Florida, was accepted into Harvard Law School. For my dad, justice and compassion mattered the most.

But for all his noble qualities, my dad was a horrible golfer.

When my father stepped up to hit a golf ball it was as if there was a time-bomb ticking in his golf bag and the only way he could keep it from going off was to swing his golf club as fast as he possibly could and get that club back in the bag ASAP. I’ve never seen a faster backswing. No matter how often I suggested that he slow down his backswing, it didn’t work.

So now I’m playing with my son and hoping against hope that he makes his Pinehurst par putt.

A golf Fantasyland made of sand

Pinehurst is one of the great golf meccas in the world. There are no less than 10 18-hole golf courses under the Pinehurst umbrella. No. 2 is the legend, having been designed by the equally legendary Donald Ross and opened in 1907. Its newest course, No. 10, just opened two years ago and is considered a must-play destination. Another course, No. 11, is on the way. And there is a nine-hole, par three course designed just for fun and is called, of course, The Cradle.

Upon arriving at the old Pinehurst Golf Club you are presented with something very 21st century – sensory overload. Just outside the main clubhouse is a sizable practice tee and next to that is a massive putting green. On the other side of the putting green are two large chipping greens -- one with sand traps, one without. As it turns out, Ross was the first golf architect to design his courses with an area set aside for practice and this is the Rolls Royce of practice areas.

But that’s not all. Next to the practice area is The Cradle, as well as a shopping area for Pinehurst apparel and a separate Titleist building selling only Titleist balls and equipment. And a block away is the USGA’s Golf Hall of Fame. There are huge crowds of people everywhere and the effect is like walking through golf Fantasyland at Disney World – in fact, one might imagine a Goofy’s Golf Roller Coaster ride careening around the facility.

This is just one way of saying that there is plenty for any father-son or father-daughter to do at Pinehurst that doesn’t involve playing No.2. But if you are fortunate enough to play No.2 be prepared…it is not for the faint-of-heart.

Sand is everywhere at Pinehurst (it is, after all, in the Sandhills region). Rather than have roughs filled with tall, thick grass, Pinehurst No. 2 has sand that is packed hard, sand that is soft and loose, and sand with clumps of wire grass growing out of it. Add in the official sand traps, which are also in abundant supply, and you have a vista that even TE Lawrence (of Arabia) would appreciate. When you play No. 2 you WILL find the sand.

We started on the 10th hole, a long par 5 and Jake wasted little time introducing himself to the pine trees. I actually hit a good drive, three wood and pitch shot, followed by a two-putt par. I should have quit while I was ahead. But I did pitch in for a par two holes later and made another par on the 16th hole. From that point on there were no pars to be had so I joined my son in admiring the scenery and appreciating the brilliance of the redesign of No.2 in 2011 by Ben Crenshaw and Bill Coore. The idea was to get the course as close as possible to the original design by Ross and they succeeded wildly.

Regarding No. 2’s infamous greens – they are sadistically difficult and it is not uncommon to have a pitch shot on one side of the green end up becoming a pitch shot on the other. But don’t blame Ross. His original greens from 1907 until 1935 were sand. When he added grass, the greens were nothing like they are now. Years of top dressing the putting surface with sand has caused the greens to become more elevated and take on their current punishing turtleback shape.

As it turns out, Jake shot over 100 and I clocked in with a 97. But the sights and sounds of golf on No. 2 made the experience more than worthwhile. As we battled our way around Pinehurst No. 2 it was less about the score and more about the shared experience of a father and a son just being together on a nice day at a historic golf course. Golf provides the perfect setup for fathers to bond with their sons and daughters.

Back to Jake’s putt for par on the photogenic fifth hole. His eight-foot putt was headed straight for the hole when some sort of invisible wood sprite came out of nowhere to stop it an inch from the hole. I was crestfallen. But Jake carried on in spite of the disappointment. He’s that kind of kid.

Father’s Day

On this Father’s Day weekend, with the US Open raging at Shinnecock Hills, some pro golfer will ascend to the top of the field and no doubt talk about how special it is to win this major golf tournament on Father’s Day. He’ll choke up as he recounts how much his father meant to him and tears will form collectively in the eyes of fathers all across this great nation of ours.

That said, father-son/daughter relationships just don’t get the media love that mother-sons and mother-daughters do. In post-game interviews athletes are always gushing over their moms. TV cameras look for the moms in the stands while the fathers sitting nearby are an afterthought. This is patently unfair.

We not only gave it our best on No. 2, but Jake took to No. 10 on a rainy, cold day and we both played No. 8 on our final day in Pinehurst. When we finished our round at No. 8 our forecaddie came up to me and said how nice of a person he thought my son was. I could have hugged him, but instead I just nodded, thanked him and told him that I felt the same way.

My only hope is that some day Jake will get another chance to make a par on Pinehurst No. 2. And if I’m not on this earthly plane when it happens I can promise you that I’ll be seeking out Arnold Palmer, Bobby Jones or Sam Snead to see if I can pull some strings so that Jake will have the joy of watching a par putt at No. 2 plop into the cup. Heck, I may track down Donald Ross himself.

The old course will be kind that day with the sun shining brightly, the sky Carolina blue, a whisper of a breeze blowing, fairways that beckon and greens that say, “You’ve got this one, kid.” And wherever I am, I’ll rejoice in watching Jake make that par and dance a little Irish jig.

He is, after all, my son, and every day on the golf course with him is Father’s Day to me.