Teed Off Ch. 01

Rachel continued, "I think she is going to be pretty upset. She's been moping around in that big house all alone. I'm surprised she still has anyone working for her. I bet she's been biting their heads off."

I chuckled a little at that, but said, "Rach, that's always been her problem. Whenever she doesn't get her way, she lashes out. She never worked on fixing that. In her mind there was nothing that needed to be fixed. I just couldn't take it anymore, so after the two of you left for college, and this job came along, there was no reason for me to stay."

"If she were sorry, would you come back?" I guessed this was coming. Rachel always wanted us to stay together no matter what.

"Rachel, it's not just about being sorry. She might be sorry that I'm gone, but she's not sorry for driving me away. That's the key. She has to recognize why we are apart, and she'll never do that. Even if she does, I'm not leaving here. This is home now. You don't have to offer that information to her, but if you get into a heated discussion and she says anything about me coming back, then you can tell her. I'm staying."

Rachel was sad about that because she knew that meant that she would never have her family and friends all in her city. Life can be hard sometimes, and this was just one of those life lessons she would have to endure.

Meredith was more in agreement with me, "No. Dad. You should stay. I wouldn't ask you to give up your happiness just to be near us. I don't remember you ever being this happy."

"Thank you, baby. It has been a long, long time. You guys need to be there for her, OK? My attorney will coordinate with you guys on an evening when you'll be able to go over there after she is served. Then you both need to show up. I don't want to hurt her, but I want to be free of the pain. This is the only way."

"We know. We don't like it, but we know."

___________________

Early Sept -

Two weeks later, I eclipsed the six month mark for my time in Knoxville, when I got an email from Janet. All it said was, "I miss you. Are you going to talk to me now?"

She still didn't get it. I called my old attorney in Chicago and told him it was time. I told him she should be served at home, because I didn't want to embarrass her. He was going to have one of my daughters call and verify that she was home alone, and then the court officer would serve the papers.

___________________

Meanwhile, I continued to split wood. I liked the impact on my shoulders and forearms so much that I bought a heavier and longer maul. The first time I used it, I was sore for a couple of days, but never really felt it after that.

I kept practicing in the front 'yard' but hadn't been back to play again. I really needed to build a putting green. I'd have to talk to Ken about that.

It was about 7pm when my phone rang. It was Janet. I thought long and hard about not taking the call but decided that I couldn't put it off.

"Hello?"

"You bastard. How could you do this. You knew I wanted to work on our marriage. You knew I wanted you to come back. Well fine. If this is what you want, I'll give it to you. You won't like it though. You'll get nothing. You hear me? I'll have the lawyers take everything you have."

"Janet? Janet?" she was fuming. Nobody treats HER this way.

"Janet, you get to stay in the house. I'm being very generous with you. Have your attorney review it, then call mine. I'm being more than fair."

Silence. "You bastard. We could have fixed it."

"Janet. I'll always love you, but we both know that our marriage can never be fixed. It's over. Have a good life. I wish you much success. Good-bye Janet."

"Wai...." was all she got out before I hung up the phone and turned it off.

I turned it back on in the morning and called Meredith. "How did it go?"

"About like we thought it would. She vacillated between hating you and missing you. She used the word 'Why' a lot. Dad, she has to know why doesn't she? She's not stupid."

"No. She isn't stupid. Far from it. It just isn't the answer she wanted. For 20 years I bent over backwards for her, so that I could stay in both of your lives as much as I could. The alternative at the time was divorce, and then I would have only seen the two of you a couple of days each month. I don't have to answer to her anymore to see you. You girls are not her hostages anymore."

"Dad? I really do miss you. I may have to think about what Mr. Ken said the other night."

"Baby, I'd love to have you, but you need to think long and hard about that. OK? But if it's what you want, we can make it happen."

"Thanks dad."

___________________

I finally made it back to the course. I did the same thing as last time and showed up just before lunch to beat the crowds. I had called the pro a week earlier to arrange everything. He even gave me a new sleeve of balls just to try.

I went out to the range to hit some practice shots with his new clubs, to try and familiarize myself with their feel. The first thing I noticed was how heavy they were compared to my old ones. Even though the new shafts are lighter, his clubs were weighted for a pro. Then I started swinging with them. Without even hitting a ball, the feel was different. They were a little stiffer and I really needed to "pop" the head down towards the ball to get much flex, but after a few minutes I started to adjust. Finally, I said, "screw it. This isn't the Masters. Let's go play."

And play I did. I spent a little more time on the putting green prior to starting my round, and had been 'putting' some around the house and office just to get a feel for the putter again. I was hitting the ball further with his clubs. On a fairly straight hole, the 423 yard #18, the previous time I played, I hit the driver about 255 and then a five iron to onto the green. This time I hit his driver about 280 and hit 9-iron into the green. If you know anything about golf, hitting 9-irons vs 5-irons into the greens is huge. Today I was consistently close enough, frequently enough, that I was two putting for pars, regularly. Whereas I think my putting 'practice' the last several weeks saved me maybe four strokes today, the better clubs may have saved me the other 4 strokes. I shot a respectable 81.

To say I was happy would be an understatement. I used to love coming out here after class and playing a round. When I was playing at my best during grad school, I only shot an 81 here, once, and I was playing 2 or 3 times a week. When I saw the pro, Gerry, to give him his clubs back, he asked how I did. I told him what I shot and that it was an 8 stroke improvement. "Very nice, very nice. So are you a believer now? Ready to upgrade?"

I was. I had been saving a ton of money on rent and utilities, so I felt like I could afford some new sticks.

"Sure Gerry, but while I like yours, I don't think they fit me very well. You are about 4 inches taller than me. I want to make sure that I have the chance to hit some different shafts, flexes, lengths and weights to find the combination that works best for me." He frowned at that, because I suspect he was hoping he had a set in stock that would accommodate me.

"Gerry, I tell you what. I really, really like these Pings of yours. I've always liked Pings. If you know the Ping rep for the area and can hook me up with him, maybe we even do it together, I'll give you whatever margin you would have made from selling me a set from your stock. Fair?"

"Deal"

And Gerry did me right. The Ping rep came through a couple of weeks later and he had 100 different combinations for me to hit. All I hit that day was 3 clubs - driver, 4-iron and 7-iron. That provided enough of a mix to gauge what worked best for me. He broke out the equipment that measures swing and ball speed. Once we started narrowing down the selection, he put the sensors on the clubs to do swing analysis. It took several hours, and I was actually tired of swinging when we finished.

We then worked through some putters to try and help me with my feel on the greens.

He said it would take a couple of weeks for them to make and deliver my clubs, and I couldn't wait.

___________________

While the job was going perfectly, the divorce was not. First, she wanted to force counseling, but since I was out of state, the judge refused. Then, feeling the need to 'win', she wanted to contest the division of assets. I didn't budge. I offered her the ability to keep the house and all the furniture except for one bedroom suite of my choice, which I really planned to give to one of the girls. The only condition for keeping the house was that she had to pay me half of my equity now, by transferring some of her retirement savings to me, and then pay me the other half of the equity, if she ever sold the house. I thought I was being rather fair.

She counter offered several times and I kept telling my attorney, "No." She lost it and filed to have me pay her alimony. What?!? She made more than me. Her retirement was more than mine. There was no freaking way I was paying her alimony.

I called my lawyer and told him to file for her to pay alimony to me, since I earned less than her. My phone started ringing the next day. I didn't answer it, but the voice mails were showing her Mr. Hyde-side, nasty. How could I? Who did I think I was? Then later when she was in her Dr. Jekyll mood, she left messages asking why I didn't love her any more or can't we work something out, or you never gave me a chance. Ha!. I think I hit pay dirt.

Her attorney quickly advised her to sign my original agreement unless she wanted to pay out tens of thousands of dollars over the next several years; not that I wanted her money. I just wanted to move on. I really didn't want it to end this way, but it was exactly what I was expecting. Finally, she signed them. It was over. I called Meredith.

"Hey Daddy. Are you ok?"

"Yes, Baby. I'll be OK. A little sad, but OK. How are you and your sister?"

"The same."

"Is your mother going to be OK?"

"You still love her. Don't you dad?"

"It was 23 years. Of course, I do. I just cannot live with her. She's become impossible."

"She's worse now. The whole world is against her."

"That'll pass. Let me know if you think any more about coming down. I'm not trying to encourage you, just help you prepare if you decide to. Ken wants you here, yesterday."

"I like the sound of that. I'll keep you informed, Daddy. Take care of yourself."

"You too, sweetie."

______________________

Early Oct

While waiting for my new clubs, I bought another new, even heavier, maul. Once I got used to it, I was killing the logs. Of course, having a better understanding of where to hit the log helped too. So I wasn't just stronger, with better equipment, I was smarter too. Now I needed to apply that to my golf game.

I was always pretty good at sizing up a course prior to playing, or especially after I had played it a few times. I really hadn't done that on my last two rounds. So I tried to plan out my play; I would take potential catastrophes out of play. I would play a safer, smarter game.

I started going out of my way to putt on the closest putting green to the farm on my way home, at a driving range. It wasn't that great, but it was better than nothing.

When my clubs came in, I was ready. I was like a kid in the candy store. The day they came in, I drove to the farm to pick them up. Ken was smiling. He was happy for me. I got my bag of practice balls and headed for the front yard. I warmed up with my mid-irons. I could really feel the ball better and it seemed to be jumping of the club face more compared to Gerry's clubs.

I worked my way up to my new 3-wood, which I loved to use versus a driver. I just always felt like they were easy to hit. I was killing it. I could hit it a little left to right or right to left. I could hit it straight. I could shade the head a little and hit a low burner. I could put it where I wanted it, and I could hit it long. If I had to guess, I'd bet I was hitting the 3-wood 270 yards, easy. When I hit the driver, I wasn't as consistent, but I was guessing it was going 15-20 yards further than my 3-wood. Damn! It was like playing a different game now.

I called Gerry and made a tee-time. When it was time to play, he suggested we play from the tips - the very back of the furthest tees. This would make the course play almost 7100 yards or 25 yards longer per hole, on average, which for me now was about 2 clubs longer than normal. So this would be a real test.

We had a good round. Gerry helped me with my game and I bought him lunch and beers. It was all good. I shot a 79 from the tips. I was about to jump out of my shoes I was so happy. Now I know a lot of you would say that nobody improves that fast, but don't' forget. I was swinging a lot all those years. I was stronger. I knew HOW to play, and I've always been a very accurate golfer, just never very long. Well, I wasn't as long as many, but I was long enough, now.

Gerry thought that with a little fine tuning and more putting practice, I could become a scratch golfer. No, I wasn't getting delusions of grandeur. I recalled from my time in college, that that golf courses are full of scratch golfers. I needed two things. First, more consistency and the best way to do that was to work on my process. Always use the same routine and really focus on the swing, not the outcome. Second, I needed more time on the putting green, not only putting, but chipping from the edges too. When I was on the edge of the green, I wasn't getting close enough to the hole with my chips.

I had convinced Ken earlier to allow me to build a putting green. He didn't mind as long as I kept up with it, which I did. When complete, I would have a regular practice facility at my doorstep. It took several months to get it how I wanted it, but by early November, just at the end of growing season it petered out. So I was basically putting on a hard sponge and the Zoysia was dormant, meaning brown, too.

My routine of cutting wood and 'practicing' in the front yard were my focus. I wasn't really sure how far I wanted to try and take this. I never really had that opportunity in the past, and now I was wondering if maybe I do. Then I got a call that would change my world for the better. It was Meredith. She wanted to move down and come to school here.

Not far from the farm is a small private school called Carson Newman that also had a good education degree. Most of Meredith's credits would transfer from Northwestern, where she was attending. She would be moving down in a month and start school in January. She would come down after her last exam, and then fly back for a few days at Christmas. I was ecstatic. Ken was too. He and I were so happy we both spent a half a day cutting wood. By this point in time, we were actually running out of wood to split, so I offered to split wood for some of his friends or neighbors, so I could keep in shape over the winter. They were stunned, but very grateful.

That's the nice thing about east Tennessee winters; they really aren't terrible. Sure you could get a few cold snaps, and an occasional disabling snow, but it would usually melt in a couple of days. Their average annual snow fall is only 6.5 inches. Hell, at my old house just outside of Chicago I could get that twice in the same week.

Having Meredith there with me was amazing. We were free of the shackles that her mom placed on all of us, so we did whatever we wanted together for the first time. There was no looking over our shoulder to see if we were misbehaving or displeasing master Janet. We spent a lot of time together on the weekends with Regina's family and Ken.

True to his word, he had a bedroom fixed up for her. He must have gotten some of his wife's old thing out of storage, because he took it all to the cleaners and then proceeded, with the help of Sam's wife, to decorate the room. When they finished, the room was elegant, full of white lace. It was very quaint, beautiful, but quaint. The cast iron sleigh bed had a beautiful handmade quilt on top. The mahogany side tables had lace doilies on them. There were two antique dressers and an antique mirror on a stand. It was really something.

Meredith had seen the room before on her last visit, so she was stunned when she saw it all made up. Ken was beaming with pride when her eyes lit up at seeing the room. There must have been some dust in the air because he got a little misty-eyed for a moment. She gave him a big hug, thanking him and not letting him go. Ken dutifully said, "feel free to change it however you want it. It's your room now." He was hoping she would like it as it is. She kept it that way for a long time.

With Meredith there, it felt like family. We started having some of Ken's family over more frequently; nephews or siblings I had never met. My sister also came over some on the weekends. It was pretty rare that we didn't spend at least one afternoon per week with family. Meredith loved how mild the winters were, by comparison to the windy city. We could grill out almost every weekend.

I still plugged away with my game and the wood in the cold. On a warm winter day, I had taken my shirt off while busting up some wood, when Meredith came out. "Damn Daddy. What happened to you? Your arms look like a fireman's on those calendars."

"Ha. Right. I may have the arms, but not the rest of it. But thank you anyway." I told her I was using the wood splitting as exercise and therapy; to take out my frustrations. I still ran when the temperature was above freezing. So I was in good shape.

Meredith started her classes, and after the first week reported back that this was a really good move for her. Her teachers and other students were all so friendly. At Northwestern, she didn't experience much of that. We settled into a happy routine. She and I would skype or facetime her sister, and I knew she did the same with her mother.

In the early spring, the course was a little damp from all the wet weather, and I called Gerry up to see if he was busy. "Hey bud, what's up?"

"Nothing at the moment. It's wet and nobody is here."

"Well, I've got something to entertain you. I'm on my way."

When I got there, I told him. "Grab one club and let's go play nine holes from the men's tees." I hadn't done this in ages.

"You want to play nine holes using only one club. Putting too?"

"Yep. One club. I had a high school golf coach that would make us do this once every other week. It taught us to think harder about how we play the course. There were certain situations you had to absolutely stay out of, and so you needed to plan for that. It also taught us to be more creative with how we used our clubs. Besides, if I lose, I'll buy the beer."

"Deal."

We played nine. Gerry was a pro and already a scratch golfer, so I expected him to wax the floor with me, but he didn't. Playing from the shorter tees made a nice difference too. He shot a 39 and I shot a 40. Not bad for one club and given how wet the course was. He was better at planning, so he positioned himself better for hitting more accurate shots into the green, and so he had shorter putts. I wasn't as good off the green, but I had spent a lot of time growing up putting with various clubs, just for fun. In College, we had lots of side bets while practicing, where we would putt on the putting green using only our wedges. So I was a better, 'club' putter than Gerry, which impressed him.

After we sat down to drink our beer, which I bought, Gerry said. "You know Tim. You might want to think about hiring a swing coach."

"Oh, you are just trying to get a few more bucks out of me."

"No. No. I'm not. I think you have the potential to be really good. You handled the muck out there better than a lot of pros I know. Just think about it." And I did; remembering what I said about courses being full of scratch golfers. It was true I handled the muck better than most, because when I played with my grandfather growing up, we played every weekend; rain or shine. If I wanted to keep my spot in his foursome, I had to play. I hated playing in the rain, but I did get better at it. My grandfather really taught me how to focus when it was miserable outside. He always said, "When everyone else wants to get off the course, you'll do well because you know how to handle it. When they are at their worst, be your best." Prophetic words, but their meaning was lost on a 16-year-old boy.