Joe attended golf camp this week. An hour and a half of putting, chipping and driving; it's always a good idea to give dozens of small children long sticks to swing. Benny and Olivia, as usual, were in tow. They had as much trouble as I did finding Joe amid the other little boys. Finally, I put a bright yellow Oregon Ducks hat on him, aah, there he is. We trek from the putting green--or as Benny calls it the petting green--following the line of tiny people hauling their bags of clubs. There are a few things that are adorable by virtue of being small. Children's golf equipment fall in this category. Tiny clubs, bags, and; of all things; the smallest golfing gloves I have ever seen. It is almost comical to see these kids, with a bag of clubs strapped to their backs that is almost as tall as they are. The girls all have ponytails pulled through their visors, polos, sporty looking skirts, it's like someone shrunk Michelle Wie.
Today was the last day of golf camp, for a bit of fun they all took turns trying to hit "Cowboy Mike," one of the instructors that has donned a cowboy hat and bandanna, in the closed in golf cart that picks up balls. I don't think I've seen them hit so well all week. On the chipping green, they all hit four balls and then are released to collect them. Truthfully, this is their favorite part. They scream and run like an out-of-season Easter egg hunt, racing toward the two coveted yellow golf balls. When do we stop having fun doing this? I have yet to see a bunch of middle aged men elbowing each other and tackling a pair of legs to keep them from grabbing their golf ball. The game might be a little more fun if they did.
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