I’ve been in this funk, where I don’t want to talk to people

and I play golf by myself

and the guys in the pro shop think I’m strange

but I don’t care

because it allows me to pretend, I’m someone else

and pretending, is an art, most people lose, after the ages of 11 or 12

and I’ve been pretending, my whole life.

I think about who I would like to be


my thoughts,

without company,

go unnoticed, the way they should be.

I don’t know what I would do, without my thoughts, just them and me.

And when I turned the corner, to the back 9, I met a guy, worthy of interrupting…

Most guys, are like gophers, that stand at attention, and say the same things, but I wish they would just go underground.

It was Frank.

Last time I played with him, he could barely walk. He’s 81, but that’s not the reason. He likes to drink beer and talk.

“You want some company?” He asked.

“Oh—I don’t know…” I said.

“Some guys don’t,” Frank offered.

“Let’s play together.” I checked into the pro shop. “I’m playing with Frank!”

“God help you,” the young guy said.

Frank teed-off and knocked it into the sand trap. He threw his club to the ground. “Christ!”

I teed-off and smacked it down the fairway.

“That’s one hell of a shot,” he said. “Check out my Shirt!” I make Liberals Cry. “I wear my politics on my sleeve,” Frank laughed.

“Where’d you get that?” I asked.

“The internet—where else?”

“I didn’t know you old guys knew how to use the internet.”

Frank smiled. I could tell he was thinking of a good comeback.

“The thing is… you try to point out how stupid a liberal is, and they never want to talk to you again,” Frank said.

“Imagine that.”

We kept playing and my golf game got worse and worse and Frank felt somewhat responsible.

“I’m sorry I’m distracting you with my politics,” he said.

“It’s good to play with distraction, right?”

“Well… not even the pros have somebody like me to follow them around. Like I was saying—my wife tries to convince her coworkers they’re wrong, but they don’t bite. They assume she gets her information from FOX News…”

“Well, where does she get her information from?” I asked.

“From me—who else?”

I laughed. We kept playing—

I wasn’t in the mood to talk to anybody, but Frank is one of those guys, you can never say “No” to.

He has a talent for friendship.

I’m horrible with names, but I remembered his…

He’s somebody, I’ll never forget.

The End


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s