To anybody else but me, it's just a picture of a golf hole. But for me, it is so much more. It's hole number one at a golf course in the St. Louis area. I took the photo a couple of months ago when I was visiting family. I haven't golfed on this particular golf course in many years. But when my dad was still alive, we'd hit the course about once a year--or as often as I could make the trip to St. Louis. Since he died in 2000, I haven't played on the course. But I've always wanted a picture of the first hole to remind me of the great times we shared there.
One such instance happened in the 90s. My dad, my brother, and I all went out for a round one Saturday morning. My brother was little--probably eight or nine years old. He'd teed up his ball on hole number one and took a mighty swing. You are going to think I'm making this up, but I'm not. He struck the ball and it split in two pieces--both of which sped down the fairway. My dad and I nearly died laughing when my brother turned around to look at us in amazement. He must have felt like Hercules or something.
My brother retrieved both halves of the ball and said something along the lines of, "Cooooooooool, I'm gonna keep these forever."
During my recent trip I asked him if he still had both halves of the ball and he said he did. I didn't even think to photograph them, but you can bet that I'll do that sometime in the future.
