Tuesday, August 31, 2010

Golfing Up a Mountain or Why I Will Never Play Golf Again

The Craft family is not exactly known for our epic vacations. We do not really go all out. Every other summer for the last 20 years we have gone to Jekyll Island, GA with the whole Craft side of the family. That means we have one beach house with about 18 people in it, but that is a story for another time. So on the years that we do not go to Jekyll Island we plan our own family vacations. One year we decided to go to Boone, NC and stay in a little cabin in the mountains. Since my parents have a time share we trade it around to stay in the vacation spot of our choice. These time share accommodations are usually less than desirable and this little cabin was no exception.

One night of vacation we decided that it would be fun to go play putt-putt as a family. Well in the mountains even in the summer it can get chilly at night. So, Mom made me wear a sweatshirt. Have you ever tried to play putt-putt up a mountain? It is not easy, especially for someone who already has a knack for sucking at putt-putt. Sarah Margaret and Dennis were breezing to the course (at least that is how it seemed to my annoyed 11 year old brain) and I was struggling to say the least. About half way through the course I started getting pretty warm in my sweatshirt. I took it off and tied it around my waist, Boy Meets World style. Mom immediately told me that I had to wear it or I would get sick. That was the straw that broke the camel's back. My score was about a 1000 strokes and I was hot. So I quit putt-putt while everyone else finished.

A few days later Dad thought it would be great to take Sarah Margaret, Dennis, and I to a real golf course and play 9 holes. None of us had ever played golf before. One thing about my dad is that he does not like to feel rushed; it makes him very anxious. Obviously as first-time golfers we were not very good. It was taking forever for the four of to even get through one hole. After a while a group of men came up behind us. Dad let them play through and then we tried again. After another group came up Dad was getting pretty antsy. We has losing his patience with my poor skills. I started crying and saying that I wanted to go back to the cabin with Mom. I clearly remember the next part of the story. I was crying and saying, "Golf is no fun!" Suddenly Dad looked at me and yelled, "Caroline! Golf is not supposed to be fun!" I dropped my club and walked back to the cabin.

Since that vacation I have not played on real golf course. I refuse to. If golf is not supposed to be fun I don't want anything to do with it. I have played putt-putt again, but I am still no good at it. To this day Dad says that yelling at me that day is one of his biggest parenting regrets. I could have been the next LPGA champion. I guess we will never know.

Sunday, August 1, 2010

A Phase

Everyone goes through different phases, especially in middle school. I was no exception. In sixth grade I went through a phase where I thought it was cool to wear my hoody backwards. That meant that my hood was in the front. [Sidenote- my favorite hoody was from PacSun. It was orange and it said "Pacific Coast Boy Watching Association" on the back. Very Classy.] In my mind all the kids at Chickahominy Middle School would see how awesome I looked with my hoody on backwards and do the same.

Unfortunately my new, cool look back fired one day on the bus. I rode in the back of the bus with Dennis and his friends who usually were playing jokes on me and teasing me. Still, I would rather ride in the back of the bus with the mean 8th graders than in the front of the bus with the nerds. One particular day I had my hoody on backwards and Dennis was sitting behind me. Suddenly he popped up over the seat and pulled my hood over my face. He then proceeded to tie my hood strings in a super knot behind my head. It was so tight I could not untie it and I could not pull my sweatshirt off from over my head. I started screaming and yelling at Dennis to untie me, but he and his friends were just laughing. Then the bus driver, Ms. Stith, came to my rescue. I heard her voice over the intercom telling Dennis to undo the knot and to leave me alone. Ms. Stith was my bus driving angel.

Dennis did let me go and he had to sit in the front seat of the bus for a week. It was great. Also, the next week I saw a girl wearing her hoody backwards at school. The only thing I can figure is that she saw me doing it and wanted to be just like me. After all, most people do.