Humorous Cracks

My newly minted 4 year old has gone through a rite of passage (last week). He broke his arm. Cracked the growth plate at the bottom of his humorous bone, in the elbow. This is what happens when you dance to music played on Oprah...on top of an ottoman. Dash was a hurting little boy for 3 days until he got his cast, but once his bright red cast was on, he was instantly better. I must give him credit, though we didn't sleep well while uncasted, though his pain medication constipated him, though his elbow was swollen and sensitive, he did very well. It did make for a long week though. He is, however, one step closer to manhood - and it probably won't be his last cast if he's like his daddy at all.

If you see him in the next 3 weeks, he'll probably ask you to sign his cast. He's very proud of it.

I spent the better part of Memorial Day working around the house. My dad and brothers came by my aunt/uncle's house (next door) and we visited for a minute. The following events and conversations actually happened and no names have been changed to protect anybody...

My uncle Elten walks out of his garage and asks everyone, "Anyone want to see the first club I ever purchased?" and holds up an old wood-headed driver. We (dad, eric, nick, me, paula) look at it and my uncle tees up a ball and promptly smokes one out his back yard. Then Nick takes the old club and smacks one, with a slight hook, over yonder. Naturally, I grab the club next.

Now, before I continue the story any further, I'd like to point out 3 things. 1.) My backyard and my uncle's backyard are basically a steep downhill mess of forrest and fauna and flora. Many a golfball has been launched back there, this is not unusual. 2.) the last time I swung a wood-headed driver was when I was in high school - it was mine - and the head broke into 3 pieces. I even mentioned this while I took a couple warm-up swings. 3.) It is quite possible that Dash has a tighter handgrip than I do. Seriously, for a 34 year old man, I might have the worst grip in the county. Years of jamming/breaking/dislocating fingers have taken a toll on my poor hands. And the fact that I had been weed-eating for the last couple hours does not bode well for what I am about to do...

Back to the story. I tee up a ball and take a couple warm up swings - this is when I make my "last time I swung a wood-headed driver" comment. As I'm swinging, I think to myself, "I should have my golf glove on." Anyway, not to be outdone by my brother or my uncle, I swing away... I actually have no idea where or how far the ball went. No one did. Because we were all watching, in slow motion, the driver helicopter itself down Mt. Brynion. It was just like a movie, pure silence until the club vanished behind a small stand of Alder trees, then an eruption of laughter from everyone - except my uncle. I swear I couldn't have thrown that club any further if I tried. The 1970's driver did have a very slick grip, in my defense. But that baby is gone, never to be seen again. Elten was in sort of a laughing shock, Eric was crying, my dad was shaking his head. I did go and look for it, but there was no way I was finding it.

This was the second time I've done something like this.

It was pretty funny, but I did feel kind of bad for losing my uncle's old driver. He came over later for some shuffleboard and I beat him in both games we played. It wasn't a good day for him.