Page 140 of Anyone But Her

"Yeah. I wasn't very good."

"Because you wouldn't pay attention. You kept swinging your damn arms around instead of taking the ball."

"I was practicing my golf swing. Pretending I had a club in my hand."

He shakes his head. "I never understood golf. Thought it was the most boring fucking game on the planet. When the old man got you into it I wanted to punch him in the face. Who the fuck did he think he was taking my boy and teaching him something I didn't want him to learn? You were my kid, not his. You were supposed to play basketball or football. A real sport."

So that's why my dad didn't like Albert? Because he taught me how to golf?

It's all making sense now. Why my dad hates golf. Why he hated Albert. Why he made me work at the shipyard. He wanted at least a small part of me to be like him. To like the things he likes, or at least show interest in them, but I didn't. My dad and I really have nothing in common. We're nothing alike. It's just how it is.

"It's not Albert's fault," I say. "When I was a kid and we were moving into this house I went over to Albert's house and found some kid golf clubs and started playing with them. Albert saw how much fun I was having and told me I could come over and play with them anytime. So I did. That's when I fell in love with golf. Even before Albert explained what it was or how you play it, I loved it. It's like I just knew golf was what I was meant to do."

I pause and wait for my dad to say something but he doesn't so I continue.

"I know I disappointed you, Dad, but I can't change how I feel. Golf is who I am, and when I say that, I'm talking about the game, not the money or the fame or the other perks that come with winning. None of that matters to me. What I love about golf is how I feel when I'm playing it. Just being out there, being outside, surrounded by green grass and trees and blue sky makes me happy. It calms me. It's like my second home."

The room goes silent as I wait for him to respond.

"You're right, kid. I am disappointed, but not because you play that stupid game." He looks at me. "Sorry, but to me, that game will always be stupid."

I chuckle. "Fair enough."

"What I'm disappointed in is how you forgot about us. About your mom and me."

"Dad, I've only stayed away from you because all you did was yell at me. You didn't want me around. You kicked me out of the house on my eighteenth birthday."

"Because you made me feel like a goddamn failure! You know how hard it is to live with that every fucking day? To have your own son look at you like you're a failure?"

"Dad, I—"

"You had your turn. Now let me finish."

"Go ahead."

"I was so pissed at you. Getting all that attention and praise just for hitting a ball around with a metal stick. And then you go and get yourself into college. I never even graduated high school."

"But I flunked out. I failed."

"And did I throw that in your face? Call you a failure?"

"No, but, Dad, I never called you a failure."

"But you thought it. I know you did. I could see it on that smug face of yours."

"You saw what you wanted to see because that's not what I was thinking. What I was really thinking is that you didn't give a shit about your kid. That you put me to work when I was too young. That you only saw me as a paycheck. And now I feel like you're doing it again."

"So I'm a failure as a father too. Is that what you're saying?"

"I didn't say that. I just..." I shake my head, frustrated and unsure what to say next.

"Maybe you're right," he says, rubbing his beard. "Maybe I was a shitty father. But it's all I know. My old man used to beat me every night and work me to the bone and half the time he didn't feed me. Compared to that I thought I was doing a good job."

I never met his father. He died before I was born. My dad never talked about him. I had no idea he was abusive.

"Why didn't you ever tell me that?" I ask.

He shrugs. "What good would it have done?"

"It would've explained a lot. I never understood why you treated me that way. I still think it's wrong but now it kinda makes sense."

My dad looks at me. "What do you want, Luke? Why are you here? If it's about the money, forget it. I don't want your damn money. I just..." He sighs. "I don't know. I guess I just wanted to prove something."

"Dad, I don't want to keep doing this. I don't want to keep reliving the past. Can we just end this? Can we stop fighting?"

---