The author found that when it came to competitive junior golf, it was best to let his son find his own way.
getty images
My name is Evan Rothman and I don’t watch my son compete in golf.
It’s not that I don’t like golf. Yes, despite the fact that I write about it, which is most of my job. It’s not that my 16-year-old son, Ike, and I don’t enjoy each other’s company. We do, despite the fact that we spend a lot of time together walking to and from school, golf tournaments, golf lessonsguitar lessons, bowling tournaments, friends’ houses and so on. (Yes, he’s an only child and I’m a freelancer.) You’ll have to trust me on this healthy relationship, and many of the parents I walk golf courses with on the junior tour probably don’t. do this – because my child is not’ does not play in the group.
It wasn’t always like that. When Ike started competing at age 9, my wife Lorraine and I would watch as a neighbor friend caddied for him. On his first hole in the competition, Ike bogeyed his opening drive out of boundsthen 6-putted from six feet for a 10. “What’s he doing?!?” Lorraine whimpered, stunned, as Ike tapped the hockey stick back and forth around the hole. “Welcome to the competition,” I remember thinking.
I also remembered being embarrassed, and then being embarrassed about being embarrassed. Golf is hard, and tournament golf should be harder, especially when you have the emotional maturity of a 9-year-old. This painful memory comes to mind every time parents turn to me and say, “He’s usually much better than this,” “She never misses them,” and so on after a shot goes wrong.
Finally, Ike mercifully opened up and then looked up at us, tears of shock in his eyes. It wasn’t a harbinger of his future game — he’s competed in the last three U.S. junior world championships in Pinehurst Resort and I got to zero at 15 – but he made a crucial point: Mum and Dad can’t really help you out there on the fairways and greens… or in the rough.
Of course, we tried to do what we could from a distance to soothe, encourage, soothe, and another child might have responded to our advice. Our son mostly looked to us for sympathy, shoulders slumped, when things didn’t go his way. It wasn’t a winning dynamic in any sense of the word and it wasn’t long before we all agreed it was best for Ike’s golf and his enjoyment of it to let him do his thing.
Sometimes my wife and I will go to a local museum and have a meal to pass the time, but often I’m traveling by myself with Ike and there’s not much to do nearby or it’s just a really nice day to not walking. golf course. I always ask the players’ parents if it’s okay for me to join them to spectate, explaining that my son is competing in the tournament, but I don’t watch. (I have taken to doing this as soon as possible after the disappointment on a mother’s face when I answered her, sorry, no, I am not a college coach here to do research). like a psychopath, and many seem happy for the company….
And then you see the wheels start turning. Is the man in front of me bright? Or, appearances aside, has he lost? Maybe his kid is so weird he can’t stand it?
Evan Rothman
Some parents will try to tease out answers. Most don’t. Either they immediately understand the basics of the situation and/or they don’t really care, which is understandable. “My vision doesn’t work for him,” is my standard line when asked what brought things to this point. It’s a rare parent who hasn’t had a moment or 10 of watching their child crash into a car, or snap, when the idea of leaving the scene has occurred to them. “I wish I didn’t have to see” is something I’ve heard more than once. “You don’t” is something I have never answered.
I’ve thought about it, of course. I’ll admit there’s a small part of me that feels morally superior: Look at me, setting aside my desire to see my offspring doing what he does best so he can do more the good. How selfless!
What a guy. Still, it bothers me sometimes too. I’d love nothing more than to be one half of those parent-child duos who seem to get along swimmingly on the course, throwing in the occasional “attaboy,” a subtle nod of encouragement, a cocked eyebrow from dad to avoid a possible merger. in transit. These ham-and-egg family members do exist – but to my eye they are vastly outnumbered by parents who mistakenly think they are in this group.
Maybe it’s Pollyanna, but I’d like to think I could have held up my end of the bargain. As a teenager, I spent years watching my father make operatic faces of anxiety and excitement during my tennis matches—until I finally banned him from participating in any more tournaments. To his credit, he didn’t play the “I pay for your lessons” card; to his discredit, he tried to watch the next inning on the sly from the stands a few pitches down. If memory serves, after spotting it, I thumbed it out like a baseball pin.
I believe, before my spectacular exile, now five years on, that I put on a pretty good poker face. Really though, does it matter? Ike knows, as any child does, that his parents care a lot, whether it’s written on their face or not, whether they answer it or not. “Get over it!” it’s all well and good and true, as far as it goes, but it goes further than that. We want our kids to succeed, too, for their sake and ours, and they know it.
For some, this knowledge is, such as whatever. For others, it can weigh heavily, or simply be a handy excuse if things don’t go their way. The last thing most parents want for their child is something that was supposed to be fun to screw up and something that builds character to become ego-exploitative. Competitive golf has given my son many ups and downs, but has consistently helped him become an independent person who (generally) takes ownership of his decisions and actions.
These are the kind of thoughts I have wandering alongside my parents instead of my offspring, watching moms and dads live and die with every stroke, whether they make a big show or not. As a parent, I can now only sympathize with their struggle to maintain their balance and sense of perspective – but as a golfer, of course, I empathize.
