“I think you’re getting ahead of the ball,” Joe said. “That’s probably why you’re not getting through your swing with as much power as you want. Make sure you keep your head steady, and stay behind the ball.”
I put another golf ball on the tee, took my stance, pulled the driver all the way back, focused on what he’d just said, and then swung the club. The ball rocketed forward straight as an arrow and landed about thirty yards farther than my previous drive. I hid a smile. Joe always had a way of doing that. A few solid words of advice, and everything just seemed right.
“Yeah, that’s it,” Joe said. “Let’s see you do it again.”
I teed up another and took a big swing. I again connected beautifully and sent this ball even farther than the last.
“That’s a perfect release,” Joe mentioned. “Sometimes small things can make a big difference. Golf is a lot like life in that way.”
I grabbed my six-iron from my golf bag and began hitting shorter shots. Joe made suggestions here and there to improve my swing, and each time I hit the ball better. We did this for the next twenty minutes as I worked my way through the clubs in my bag. Not once did he bring up anything about Taylor. I appreciated that. When I started to work up a good sweat, Joe went over to the small clubhouse and grabbed us a couple of bottles of cold water.
It dawned on me that if Taylor and I didn’t make it, I would likely lose moments like this with her father. That really bummed me out. The man had walked step-by-step with me these past five years. He’d helped me get through my own father’s death. He’d traveled with me across the country when I’d gone on several college football recruiting trips and had helped guide me to the decision to stay in Austin and play ball at UT. He’d gotten me through the pain of a knee injury a year ago that put me on the bench and had basically spoiled any chance I’d had at pursuing football professionally. He’d given me academic advice when I was struggling to find a specific degree plan to pursue. In every way, Joe had stepped into my life as a second father to me. I would be losing a lot more than just Taylor.
I looked over at him. “Guess we won’t be playing golf together anymore, huh?”
“Well, that’s up to you, Alex. I said from the very beginning, our friendship wasn’t conditional.”
“Yeah, well, Taylor might have different thoughts.”
He chuckled. “I can’t deny that.”
“Look, Joe, I know I shouldn’t have lied to her.”
“Yeah, lying is never good,” he agreed.
“Especially with Taylor. It’s the most important thing.”
Joe sighed. “I taught her from birth that honesty in a relationship is a gift to be protected. It’s like a beautiful snow-capped mountain. Lies are the small cracks in the ice layer beneath the snow. They can seem innocent at first. We can even rationalize them as honorable. But once they start, it’s hard as hell to stop them—until everything suddenly fractures. Then you have a full-on avalanche on your hands that could crush you. Believe me, I know.”
“You do?”
He gave me a tight smile. “A story for another day.”
“Well, between us, I don’t know what I want right now. I’m feeling overwhelmed.”
“That’s understandable. You’re at a critical moment in your life. You’ll both be graduating soon and having to step out into the real world. It’s smart to really think things through and figure out where you want to go in life. And who you might want beside you on that journey.”
“Taylor seems to already know. At least, she did before tonight.”
“My daughter likes to make a plan and then stick with it. We’re the same in that way. Which means we don’t do well with unexpected curveballs. But that doesn’t mean our plans are always the right plans.”
“Yeah, she’s pretty stubborn.”
“She gets that from me. Sorry.”
I gave him a small smile. “I don’t want to hurt Taylor.”
“I know. But she’s a big girl. She’ll be okay. So will you. Believe me, life does move on, and hearts do heal over time. Whether together or apart, you both have incredibly bright futures ahead of you.”
I took a drink of water, looked out over the range. “What do you think I should do?”
“Guess that depends. Do you still love her?”
I answered without hesitation. “Yes.”
He pressed his lips together, took a long moment to respond, as if he’d been trying to get a gauge on me tonight. “You know, Alex, I had this putter back in college. It was the same putter my dad had given me when I was ten and first started playing golf with him. I loved that putter. I was so comfortable with it in my hands. I knew exactly how it should feel, the proper way to pull it back and then follow through with my stroke, even the precise sound it was supposed to make when I made perfect contact with the ball. I trusted that putter so much. When my other clubs failed me, I could always count on it. And because of that, I won a lot of youth golf tournaments. But then one day, on a whim, I went out and got myself a brand-new putter.”