While this is completely unrelated to the Masters coverage this week, our class today made me recall I column I wrote for The Daily Iowan before Father's Day weekend three years ago about my grandfather and an experience I shared with Earl Woods. I could not find a link on the paper's new archive system so I've simply pasted the text below.
It's hard to believe it was three years ago. It still seems quite vivid.
One Final Sunday
June 16, 2006
Just like any other summer Sunday, the rising sun glared fiercely down the dew-soaked fairway and onto the opening tee box. Three proud generations of my blood stood calmly together, having just watched my ritual pre-round drive soar into the waveless Mississippi. It was all the warm-up I needed for our weekly 7 a.m. start.
Off we went, two of us in a cart, my grandfather now a wise 82 and I a youthful 16.
Playing countless times on the peaceful course, I knew the speed of the greens and could aim with my eyes closed, just as I knew to avoid the daunting oak tree that guards the first pin. In position to make birdie with an easy wedge shot left onto the green, I hung my ball to the right and grimaced as the ruthless obstacle swallowed it up.
"That's just the way life is," he said.
A simple phrase that meant so much, it was always about more than golf with him. I knew him as Grandpa; friends called him Dicky. Lucky to break 100, he didn't care about where he hit it or what the scorecard read. Dicky cared about time spent with friends and absorbing the beauty of the game.
An occasional par would bring a chuckle and an unforgettable grin, as would an old naval war story or spirited political dispute. He spent Saturday evenings at church to spend Sunday mornings with us — Gabe, Fennelly, Skip, Herman, McGowan, Pete — sometimes even Delleman. I always loved that about him.
A slight breeze had picked up by the ninth, a gorgeous flower-laden tee overwhelmed in tranquility. I hit a pitching wedge onto the left side of the green, and there was no doubt in my mind what was coming next. Sure enough, out he trotted from the halfway house, a crisp red apple in his wrinkled palm.
"This is just delightful," he said to us.
I used to tell my dad I hated when Grandpa ate an apple, his thunderous bites and relentless chomping in my left ear. One quick nibble and it was over; that thing would last the entire back nine, if he wanted. As much as it annoyed me, it made me laugh, the old-timer crunching away in my backswing. It's something I'll always remember about those days.
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Two weeks after Tiger Woods turned pro, in 1996, he was a virtual lock to win his second PGA Tour event in what would be his last Quad Cities Open. Oakwood Country Club was swarmed with cameras and media personnel, all hoping to catch their first glimpse of future greatness.
That Sunday morning, my father and I rode in a limousine with Earl Woods, Tiger's late father, directly to the clubhouse to watch the final round unfold. Tellingly, the one stop we made along the way was to buy two packs of cigarettes for Earl, who later battled cancer and poor health caused by smoking.
On the back nine of his final 18, Tiger had a firm grasp on victory, needing only a few solid pars to win. I'll never forget the look in Earl's eyes as he watched Tiger collapse, making an unbelievable quadruple-bogey eight on a par 4 to take himself out of contention.
After the round, the two of them met in the clubhouse, Earl consoling and coaching Tiger about what had transpired. The thing is, I didn't see the Tiger who won 10 majors before he turned 30. I didn't see the dominating, fist-pumping Tiger that won the 1997 Masters by an astounding 12 shots. I didn't even see the untouchable superstar with the model wife that has it all.
I saw a father and a son, a coach and a player, two people who loved the game and what it gave them. His dad meant everything to Tiger, whether it was on or off the course.
Father's Day shares the spotlight with the U.S. Open this weekend, and I can't imagine what Tiger will go through in his first event since his father's death. Memories of being together on the golf course will come rushing back, and Tiger may be the only one mentally strong enough to take it. I will be rooting for Tiger, not just to win, but to pull through one of the toughest days of his life.
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As we came to the closing hole of our beautiful morning, I didn't know it would be the last Father's Day round I would ever play with my grandfather. He died last year, on June 14, 2005, the same week as my favorite holiday. I had played my final round with one of my best friends.
Needless to say, there was no Sunday round that week, only thoughts and memories of all the delightful times we shared. The stroke that took him happened at the one place he loved being most, on the golf course with his friends.
I only wish I had one more Father's Day and one more round with him.