Join the clubs

Sometimes I feel that I fail to grasp the significance of events in my own life.

I started golfing when I was 9. I was just going to walk around with my dad and uncle, but when my dad found out he had to pay the same amount if I walked or played, he jammed a club in my hand and after my first round hunted down some used my-sized clubs from the classified ads (the early 90s version of Craigslist).

I can legitimately say that I've been playing golf for most of my life, which means I should be a lot better than I am by now, and I don't mean this as an excuse, but I've never really had my own set of clubs.

For much of my four-year varsity high school career, I used my mom's old clubs (she never really took to the game and these also got their start in our family used from the classifieds). I was a short kid (and know I'm not really a tall man) so it made sense that I use a set of women's clubs. Or so my dad said. I didn't have a problem with it, except that my woods said "Lady Laser" on them and the high school boys I played with and against got a pretty big kick out of it (the richer schools were the worst. Several times our teams, mine being the Hayward area golf equivalent of "The Bad News Bears," almost came to blows over issues other than my clubs, but in my head it was mostly that).

I don't know, 10 years later, if the whole experience of swinging the Lady Lasers made me more resilient with a thicker skin or made me into a chubby ball of self-loathing. It didn't help that, often times, especially compared to the really good players, I hit the ball "like a girl."

I only recently told my family about what I now see as the humor of my using those clubs for competitive play. Mercifully, before the spring season of my senior year, I grew to average size (finally becoming taller than my then-idol, Muggsy Bogues) and inherited my dad's old clubs which, like Tom Hanks' only friend in "Castway," had Wilson written on them. These have been my clubs ever since my dad bought himself those new ones.

Some of my friends from the team asked me what happened to the lasers. My sister played with them today, if any of you are wondering.

After 15 years of swinging hand-me-down or ladies clubs, for my recent birthday I got a set of golf clubs. Well, in theory. My parents didn't know what kind I would want, so in an incredibly out-of-character move, they gave me cash and told me what I was allowed to buy with it (we never give cash in this family).

Two months later I still haven't gone to look for a set of clubs. Faced with the question of what I want, I'm quite stumped. It's never really occurred to me to think about it. Graphite or steel? Stiff or flexible? What kind of grip do I like? How should I know? The last time I swung a brand new club, it was somebody else's and they were just showing it to me. They liked it, and it seemed like it would hit a golf ball well enough, but really, how am I supposed to know the difference? I know what I don't like, but I'm almost certain that has a lot more to do with my skill level than my second-generation clubs.

My search isn't aided at all by the fact that I don't really like shopping. Looking for clubs seems a lot like trying things on and I get tired of that kind of thing real quick. I'm thinking about just buying my uncle's old ones from him. If only to keep my streak alive.

This whole thing might be a metaphor for my life. Or it might just mean that my sister is wrong and I'm not the favorite. It could even be both, but it's probably neither.