Time

Last year, my Dad asked me to play in a "Father Son" Golf Tournament with him. For thirty plus years he has been participating in these with my brothers, and more recently with my husband, but I have never played with him, never been asked to play with him until now. I suck at golf, therefore I'm not very fond of criss crossing the golf course for five hours in the blazing humidity of an August day, chasing a minuscule ball with a tiny metal rod. There many more desirable things that I could do with my precious leisure time; a couple of tennis matches or five yoga classes or plucking my mustache.

Take a close look at most golf professionals, they are not the picture of health, sans Tiger Woods. Most have protruding guts and some even have man boobs. Golf doesn't lend itself to being a healthy workout, even if you walk.

The expense of the game is a whole other ball of wax. Clubs, shoes, balls, greens fees, more balls(because since I suck, I lose many) food/drinks and (if you are a 'real' golfer) cash for betting.

So last year, I begged off of the tournament, buying some time to practice some for this year's event.

And things change in a year's time.

Wednesday I trekked down and back to Fayetteville for a memorial service. Although it was a long day for me, it wasn't near as long as it was for my childhood friend, whose Dad just unexpectedly died. There were a fair amount of folks there my age, most who had already lost one or both parents. Most likely, that's what brought them there - they know how it feels to lose a parent and what it means to have your friends show their support.

I can't empathize; both my parents are living. But my Dad had a mini stroke last summer, making us all mindful that he won't be here forever.

Time to dust off my clubs and buy some balls. This year I'm looking forward to spending the time on the links with my Dad. It's the time that matters. Time others don't have.