I had played golf for over 50 years before I got my first “hole-in-one”. It was at Whispering Springs in Fond Du Lac. Grasshopper No.4 was my witness.
Recently I went to the driving range with Grandson Tommy. He is learning to golf and is practicing with different clubs. Tommy’s favorite is the “driver”. That was my favorite too. There is something about winding up and busting a long shot over the 250 yard sign (yeah, right). The driver represents power. The driver is fun.
Tommy did the impossible. He managed to get a hole-in-one at the driving range. My Grandson did it. He wound up, took a mighty swing, hit the ball into “tomorrow” and proceded to tell me he just got a hole-in-one. How could that be? Well, Tommy swung so hard, he blew open the seam in the shorts he was wearing and said he felt a breeze. Yep, he got a hole in the pants. Not just any hole you understand. They were ripped from the belt line completely down into the crotch. When my Grandson gets a “hole-in-one”, he does it with gusto.
Fortunately tearing your pants at the driving range limits the embarrassment. There were only 2-3 other golfers practicing so nobody really noticed. Somehow, once you’ve torn your pants open, it is hard to enjoy the golfing experience.
The only solution I can think of to prevent accidents like this in the future is to ask Tommy to stop growing. He has surpassed his Dad in height making him around 5’10” tall and only 13 years old. He is out-growing his clothes. My plea to the Grasshopper No.4 family is “buy the kid some new clothes that fit”.
Grandson Tommy will get his legitimate hole-in-one some day. All in good time. It took me 50 years.
Love,
Dad