Press On

For golf fans, those two words conjure up images of prayer, heroics, and heartbreak. Today Phil put a fateful shot into Rae’s Creek on 12 to stifle an Easter Sunday charge for the ages. Yesterday, from the other side of Rae’s Creek, Patrick dunked two of the most beautiful shots ever hit into that same creek. Never mind that when he walked to the edge of the creek the swiftly moving water that had flowed through Augusta National moments earlier had already taken the balls forever. He looked at me with disappointment. I looked back with pride and complete understanding of the rite of passage that had just occurred. The roars from the neighboring tournament did not coincide with excellence on our side of the creek, but Patrick found them fascinating and exciting. Could they really be cheering for him? He responded to the roars with his trademark wide smile and deep dimples. Until we reached number nine, I had allowed Patrick to tee up his ball at the 100 yard markers and play the holes. When we came to nine I let him play the entire hole. I road along the cart path watching him hit his ball and chase it so that he could hit it again with the backdrop of 13 fairway lined with its famous azaleas and background music of the best kind. My eyes welled with tears of thanks to God for the opportunity to literally watch my healthy son play golf along with the world’s best in the world’s most beautiful setting separated only by that creek. When he hopped back in the cart I said, “Patch, this is the most fun I have ever had.” I heard a very genuine “Me, too, Daddy” in reply.

Today Erin and I took Patrick and Madison to the Masters for the first time. We immediately went to Amen Corner where I showed Patrick Rae’s Creek and number nine of Augusta Country Club from a different perspective. Later in the morning we made our way to the practice tee. As our path was interrupted by a familiar white rope, a gentleman walked straight up to Patrick, who was standing quietly at the rope while other children waived hats and other items and begged for autographs. The gentleman handed Patrick his glove and Madison his ball. Both bear the autograph of Jose Maria Olazabal, a multiple Masters Champion who today became one of my favorites.

This Easter marks two years of remission. It could not have been more perfect. Phil’s charge didn’t hold, but his ball is lying next to Patrick’s somewhere in that creek. I will never forget the excitement of the patrons as Tiger and Phil dueled. I will never forget the mettle of Angel Cabrera or the kindness of Olazabal. And I will certainly never forget Patrick’s smiles. SRC