I've learned to love watching the sport of golf through Pete.
On Saturday I followed him on the back nine (I don't have the patience yet for a full 18). Growing up solely in team sports, I've never fully understood the pressure of individual performance beyond my own stats. The mental stability and endurance needed in a full 18-hole round is unfathomable to me! Hitting that tiny white ball with a metal stick is equally as mind-boggling as I'm sure many of you could agree.
Of course it never hurts when the course you're walking is as beautiful as Pinehurst.
My father. What a goof.
This is the face of an utterly content man. I'm fairly positive he loves golf more than me.
Apparently goofiness is genetic.
Your senior year of college, as many of you know, can be a time of stark rawness and vulnerability. I remember circulating back to what I knew that year-- my parents, childhood friends, basketball-- to help navigate the unknown of transition. I now see it in Pete, and hope to provide a worn path for him to trot down, a hand to hold.
We ended the day hitting chip shots outside as the sun set. A perfect day in Pete's book, and to be honest, mine as well. I'm learning one of the most rewarding gifts is filling your heart with what others love.
Until next time!