Cinderella on the Golf Course

There is a great guy - a friend and a Board member - who periodically invites me to play golf at his Country Club. We played today, joined by another very nice guy - a friend of his - weather was a 10+ - Yet - today's outing highlighted the a 'core issue' that I struggle with -- feeling worthy of 'living someone else's life" - even for 5 hours - without feeling so uncomfortable, without finding reason's to feel 'guilty' of the privilege I have -- or paradoxically - feeling envious of the 'privilege' I don't enjoy.

Dressing for Country Club golf requires a bit of time and thought. The black wind pants - even the dressy ones without the stripes down the legs - wouldn't do. I wore beige dockers, a white Nike Tiger Woods golf shirt -- that showed off my chest muscles and a bit too much nipple - a blue golf windbreaker (3/4 sleeve), black socks and Golf Shoes (no hiking boots or sneakers.)

I pulled up to the Country Club and right away I was confronted with a dilemma -- it said valet parking .... I don't like valet parking ... I feel uncomfortable with 'dropping my car off', when the parking lot is literally a 'stones throw' - or in this case - a pitching wedge - from the club. I forgo the valet parking -- park my car and get out my golf bag. That is my "new and light" golf bag - that stands by itself - and that I got from the Internet for $30. Last season I had my 'old, heavy black bag -- that was so heavy that Caddy's 'sighed' when they saw it ---- more about Caddy's later. Before I could lock my car door - a golf cart driven by one of the valet parkers appeared to take me and my clubs to the front door. I'm already 'uncomfortable' and not sure if I should tip or not.

I got to the Country Club 15 minutes early -- sat in a posh chair and tried to look as though I fit in -- after all I was 'dressed to the nine's. No matter -- I felt as though I had a sign that said 'outsider' -- not one of us.

My friend comes - we go to the locker room -- large wood lockers -- attendants ready to take your shoes and shine them , ready for your return. And then he 'breaks the bad news to me.' On Tuesday mornings the club doesn't serve breakfast. This is more of a disappointment than my blog readership may think --- The club's dining room -- and we are talking 'fancier than any restaurant that I've gone to' is noted for their food. Prior breakfasts at the club included omelets, lox/bagels, home baked muffins, challah french toast -- so not having breakfast was a downer. My friend -- being one of the nicest people I know -- goes into the kitchen to find us coffee (tea for me) and some crackers ... We are sitting in this cavernous dining room - with just a handful of other people when my cell phone rings. Until this point - I was just beginning to get comfortable -- I didn't have to worry about spilling something at breakfast -- just my friend and me munching on some crackers. The call was from my office - and I started talking in the dining room. My friend bounded out of his chair -- and remember this is the nicest guy -- and said I had to hang up immediately, which I did. He informed me that talking on a cell phone was one of the worst infractions at the Club --- and told me it was more acceptable to commit sodomy than talk on a cell phone. -- 'if caught' - the member was fined $100 - even if it was his guest that was the culprit. I apologized profusely - hoping that the cell phone police didn't see me.

An older man - deeply tanned - full head of hair - decked out in white pants - a designer polo shirt and a gold chain around his neck -- comes over -- my friend introduces me to "Doc" and he shakes my hand and says "I like getting laid every day." I guess it was better than "I caught you using your cell phone and I'm making a citizen's arrest." He proceeded to tell us in graphic detail that he was 84 y/o and his passion in life was 'fucking.' Doc said that his wife didn't care much for this - so he went to Sterling Lake - where there were plenty of girls. My friend 'politely excused us' -- saying we needed to get to the first tee. Walking out of the club - he said -- by the way - What do you think of our 'membership chair?' Pretty good line I thought.

We have quite a number of psychologists who are regular readers of this blog ... later I found out that "Doc" was indeed a Doctor -- in fact was a preeminent ENT specialist in Westchester. He had a stroke a few years ago and one of the lasting effects was this complete lack of 'filtering' and his obsession with sex. He constantly is approaching women (members, staff) at the club and embarrassing them with his propositions. Our readerhsip would appreciated an assessment of "Doc's condition" and any recommendations you may have.

We go to the starter -- our golf bags are already in our cart (electric - not a pull cart like I always use) and we meet our caddy - Bentley. Bentley is a middle aged man of color -- and since we were riding -- didn't have to carry our bags. Already I felt better about that.

A word about the golf course -- think Botanical Garden -- the landscaping in impeccable -- flower beds in full bloom -- without a weed in sight. The fairways look like carpets and the greens are in pristine condition. The sand in the sand traps look like the pink sand of a Caribbean beach. Have I painted a picture --- this was playing golf in the garden of Eden.

Back to the Caddy -- his job was to make our golf experience as enjoyable as possible. He goes to the middle of the fairway, where he things we can reach and waits for us to swing. (as an aside - with each successive hole, Bentley would move closer in.) There is something a bit disconcerting that we were supposed to a Black man as a target. A caddy has to have eyes like a hawk -- because another job is to follow where our errant balls may be hit .... and more often than not -- my friend and I hit to opposite sides of the fairway. Our caddy had to go back and forth - pointing out our ball. If that wasn't enough -- every time we took a divot -- he would replace the divot and shake some grass seed and soil from a container. (He should have had a wheel barrel for all the gardening that was required from our play.) Raking the sand after we hit -- (these traps were so deep that there were stairs leading down to them) and when we eventually made it to the green -- carrying our putters and showing us where to putt the ball in order to get it in.
Having a caddy is one of the luxuries of golf that I was feeling far too guilty to be able to enjoy.

Readers of past blogs know that quite allot of space is spent on urinary issues -- where to go, how often, and how far to pull one's pants down have all been written about. I am pleased to announce that I was able to contain myself - not go on the course, but rather in the one bathroom that was available at the 7th hole.

The course, in addition to being so well maintained -- was virtually empty. Maybe no breakfasts served on Tuesday is more of a detriment than I might have realized. Our play vacillated - more good shots than bad. After 9 - we went into the clubhouse for lunch (thankfully lunch is served every day) -- the chicken Caesar salad was huge and delicious, served on china and with more than enough wait help to make sure that my glass was always filled. For anyone worried that I missed breakfast - I more than made up for it at lunch. Along with the salad there was an assortment of freshly baked breads.

After a leisurely lunch -- it was onto the back 9. Beautiful day -- more good shots than bad -- but still far to many 'flubs.' Our caddy was terrific and the water holes were the recipients of far too many of my balls.

After our round -- we went to the bar for some drinks (diet coke for me) and a plate of cheese, salami and crackers.

As with Cinderella -- the bewitching time was approaching - where my car turns into a pumpkin and I had to go back to work. Somehow my clubs were cleaned and waiting for me at my car.

I'm pretty sure I didn't leave a glass slipper behind -- but I know my friend will invite me again -- and I hope that I'll be able to enjoy this brief period of 'gluttonous opportunity' without feeling unworthy. After all - I never felt guilty sneaking into Van Cortland Park in the Bronx to play golf.

Life's lesson for today -- it's not easy to turn a sow's ear into a silk purse --- or as was said in West Side Story --- "Stick to your Own Kind". It all is my father's fault -- after all - he owned a small family business in the Bronx -- selling paper supplies and toys. He was approached by the "Family" - (read Mafia) and asked to provide them with glassine envelopes (my father sold them to people who collected stamps) for them to use to package their cocaine. Had my father just gone along with the flow -- he wasn't being asked to fill the envelopes - just to sell them -- perhaps I would have been shown a life beyond stoop ball and stick ball -- learned with side the bread plate and the water is on -- and given an opportunity to 'enjoy' the finer things of life -- like a Country Club.

Peace out --