The Nine Lessons by Kevin Alan Milne Read Free Book Online Page A

fatherhood scares the bloody snot out of everyone! The point is that nobody is ever ready for parenthood, and nobody will ever be a perfect parent. If a father expects to stand up and hit a hole-in-one right from the start with his children, he’s going against the odds. The best you can hope for as a parent is to use whatever measly skills you’ve got, and try to do your best.”
    I stared blankly at my father for several seconds, dumbfounded by what he’d just said. Had my ears deceived me? Had London Witte just successfully related our golf lesson to my personal fear that I was incapable of being a father? The thought that he might have just taught me something of value about life by hitting a little white ball around in the grass was more than I could take. I was tired, my hands ached, and to top it all off, my father had just said something intelligent. “I have to go now,” I said lamely.
    London didn’t blink an eye as I stood up. “One last thought before you leave, Augusta. From what I saw out there today, a golfer with nothing more than a measly putter in his hands can still move the ball in the right direction. And even if it seems difficult at first, given a little practice and experience, the golfer will improve.”
    I would spend plenty of time during the ensuing weeks and months thinking about those words, but I wouldn’t allow myself to ponder them right there in front of my father. He should have been the last person on earth offering advice about fatherhood. This was the man who, when I was a first-grader, had cared more about teaching me how to correctly replace spikes in my golf shoes than how to tie shoelaces. The same man who made sure I memorized, in chronological order, every winner of the British Open before he would allow me to study the presidents of the United States for my seventh-grade history exam. No, this man had no business talking to me about fatherhood. I turned and left.
    “So, see you next month?” he called.
    I stopped just long enough to nod. “Only for the scorecards.”

CHAPTER 6

    Love is a hole in the heart.
    —Ben Hecht
    J anuary 24, 1973 —It has been a mere seventeen days since I first stumbled across the incomparable Jessalynn Call. She is a wonder—a rare combination of intelligence, humour, and beauty, the likes of which I’ve never found in one person. She is terrible at golf, but that is a minor flaw at best. She returned two days ago to school in New Jersey, and I feel strangely empty without her. From our first date on, we spent nearly every free moment together while she was in California, and now that she is gone I feel a piece of me is missing, too. My hyperdiligence in practicing for the PGA has slipped considerably, being temporarily replaced by a burning desire to simply see her again. One way or another, I will see Jessalynn very soon.

    February 8, 1973—Having spent most of my surplus money on course membership fees, I lack the funds needed to buy a plane ticket to New Jersey, so this morning I began hitchhiking across the country. A trucker named Les picked me up after just thirty minutes by the roadside. If all goes as planned I should be on the East Coast in a couple of days. We have already crossed the border into Arizona. Les has agreed to take me as far as Denver. I brought along plenty of extra scorecards to document my trip, which I pray will be a safe and quick journey. Princeton or bust!!

    February 13, 1973—The drive continues… slowly. Finding willing chauffeurs who do not appear dangerous has proven to be the largest obstacle to hitchhiking. Les, it seems, was a lucky first ride. I spent the better part of yesterday freezing in the cold at a rest stop in Ohio. Finally a nice old man named Willie took pity on me. My hands have just defrosted enough in his car to grip the pen and write. We are currently passing through Centre Country, Pennsylvania—beautiful rolling hills, but too much snow for my liking. I could never live in such a