July 9, 2009
In an effort to enjoy the fresh air and spend more time with my four kids, I pulled out a bag of plastic golf balls and a few irons the other day and scattered them about the yard for the kids to practice.
That was a mistake.
First, they fought, like the worst caddies in the world, over who got which club. Once we all settled on the 9, the 7, the pitching wedge and putter, well, they started playing at golf.
It looked like a skinny, metal chicken fight out there. It looked like a foursome of cats with golf clubs taped to their paws. It looked like a bunch of stumbling Saturday night John Dalys in short pants ... (read more)
