I never really understood the saying, “You can’t teach an old dog new tricks”, but I recently turned 50 and realized that I had somehow become an old dog. And it’s true: I really don’t want to learn any new tricks.
Hip hop dancing? Nope.
Glass blowing? Nope.
Snapchatting with my #squad? Double nope.
I’m perfectly happy over here on the couch with a glass of white wine in my paws, wagging my tail, and watching back-to-back episodes of The Real Housewives of Wherever.
That’s why, when the opportunity to take golf lessons arose, I didn’t immediately jump on it. I figured I was just too old to try something new. Golf seemed to me like a sport best learned when you’re a kid or at least in your 20s. After that, why bother? I’d just look foolish out there, swinging a club around and trying to hit a little ball. Plus, I’d probably pull something and need a few Motrin with my white wine.
My other hesitation was that I really didn’t know any women who golfed. I mean, I know that women golf, obviously. There have been thousands of hugely successful and accomplished female golf pros for decades. But for some reason, not a lot of my peers in their 40s play, even though, according to them, their husbands play all the damn time.
But, the more I thought about it, the more I realized how much enjoyment I’d be missing out on if I didn’t take golf lessons. After all, there are a lot of beautiful golf courses close to my house, it’s a day spent outside in the sunshine, it’s exercise, it’s social, and it’s actually a fabulous thing for my body and soul to learn something new. Plus, why should I let every man named Chip have all the fun?
Once I made the decision to start lessons, I took it a step further; I asked my 16-year-old son, Sam, to join me. (Of course, any parent of teenagers knows that “asked” really means “told”.) There aren’t a lot of activities we do together anymore, so both of us learning how to play golf seemed like the perfect way to bond.
Over the next few weeks, I’ll report back on what we learned from the lessons, including how we found our pro, what we learned about clubs—both the ones you hold in your hands and facilities—and how we went from not even knowing what a chip shot is to playing full round of golf with minimal whining, fighting, and hopefully without embarrassing either myself or my son.