What I Learned From the Teebox ... by Jordie Henry

Note: My son, Jordie Henry, is now 20 years old. When he was a junior at Randall High School, he had to write a story similar to the format of "Tuesdays With Morrie," for Mr. Lance's English class. He wrote his story about his granddad, Jim Wilcoxson. 

With Jordie's permission, I am sharing this story, in parts. I think my son is a writer ...

What I Learned From the Teebox

"Sweating Out a Day in Childress, Texas"

It is the late summer of 2011, a humid, unbreathable Saturday morning. We both sit next to each other, side by side, on the white cushion of the golf cart beside the #1 tee. We wear similarly-designed golf attire. We do not have to wait on anybody. When we tee the ball up, we take our backswings, and strike the white ball into the Texas air, seemingly the only golfers on the course in the town of Childress. For both of us, a round of golf has just come underway.

Jordie Henry

On the 18th tee, I see Jim Wilcoxson, my granddad, and he congratulates me joyfully on my first round for shooting under the score of 80. He is not a shy man, for he knows everyone, as if he has connections with anybody he crosses. In his gold-collared shirt and black shorts, he still looks like a natural golfer. He has light-colored blue eyes, thinning gray hair combed across the top of his head, tanned skin, a small gap in his teeth, and a distinct smile. Although his sayings are redundant and his jokes are, too — he thinks of them on his own — when he says them, it the most amusing thing you'll hear all day because it's just plain goofy and original.

People always ask him how he's doing when he is greeted. He replies, "If I had a tail, I'd be waggin' it!" Knowing that was coming, I still smile and wait for the person's delighted reaction. Before we leave, he has to buy a souvenir (usually something for me), a white Stone Ridge Golf Course hat. I wanted to make sure it fit. It was a special occasion. We make this trip together annually.

"Jordie H. Henry, you ready to head back to Amarillo?" he asks, knowing full well my middle name starts with a C (I guess he likes the ring of the "H" sound). Then he pats me on the back. I feel like I've been playfully punched. I'm much taller than he is, but when he pats me on the back, or grabs my back with pro-wrestler-like strength, I feel like he's the bigger one.

He asks if I need "anything to eat, drink, spit, or chew," and without hesitation, I reply with a laugh, "Naw, I'm fine."

When he hears the answer, he simply steps back and laughs.


Next: "The Physical Nature"