Dexter-Personal Narrative

The radiant rays of light leapt off of the sun’s surface while a tiny flock of hummingbirds filled the azure sky with their sweet song. Meanwhile, the sky itself was clear, a blank canvas of light blue painted across the horizon. At the time, I was 5’5, athletically built, and relatively average in height compared to my seventh grade classmates. I had uneven locks of black hair that seemed to go out in every direction, similar to the quills of porcupine. Nevertheless, my body movements were sluggish due to the lack of sleep I had been receiving.

I was walking through the village one day, kicking a rock around in the dirt, when,

This sporting and social event is one of golf’s greatest traditions, and it has a storied past as well as other things about it that are just plain interesting to know.

Today I will be telling u the story about when my owner hit a grand slam in a wooden bat tournament.

The game of golf is one of the oldest of today’s modern sports. Its exact beginnings are not known; however, some historians trace golf back to the Stone Age while others claim it originated from the “idle antics of shepherd boys knocking small stones into holes in the ground with a crook while their flocks grazed nearby” (Peper 1). Researched back to the time of the Roman Empire, it is also believed the sports-oriented Romans played a forerunner of the game of golf called paganica. This sport involved the use of a bent stick and a ball stuffed with wool played in the open countryside.

I was walking towards the seventeenth hole of the Deep Cliff golf course, listening the rattle of the clubs on my back. My mouth dry of thirst from the pack of trail mix I had ate. I looked down at my scorecard and realized that I did not do as fortunate as I thought. My feet were aching and my arms were sore. I arrived at the seventeenth tee box after what felt like ages. I scanned the sign next to a decrepit bench. It read that the flag was one hundred seventy yards away. I dug deep into my pocket and pulled out a three inch tee and a golf ball. I teed up the ball, eyeing the flag in the distance. Little did I know, that the proudest moment of my life was waiting for me one hundred seventy yards away.

It was a peaceful, sunny day and perfect for golfing. The lake shimmered with sunlight as my dad, Ellie and I scooted up the hill in our golf cart, ready to go putt out balls in the hole. “Hey Kate,” my dad said, “Go see if you can find your ball, I will come and help you after I putt my ball in.”

“My uncle just said, ‘Don’t stop,’” Stewart said. “I want to continue to get better. He told me to know the golf side of it and the golf course side of it.”

I have been golfing since I was nine years old. Nothing can beat the smell of freshly cut grass and the burning sensation of a blister on your hand, about to pop. Swinging a club is the best feeling in the world, all of my worries just melt away when I have a club in my hand. Since I was nine, I’ve always wanted to make it to the State Golf Tournament. I want to feel the crisp air and the nervousness that consumes me as I begin to tee off. I want to feel the feeling of a champion, like the bubbling of champagne.

As it flew toward me, I flipped backwards and the rock struck the ground where I had been standing a moment before. I landed on my feet on top of the rock. When I looked up, the second boulder was hurtling toward me. I held up my white-hot hands, dug my fingers into the rock with inhuman speed, and pulled in opposite directions with all I had. The two halves of the boulder whizzed past on either side of me.

The greatest memories I possess concerning family and friends center largely around the huge trees and rolling green hills of Springbrook Country Club. Looking back on my childhood, I most vividly remember the countless afternoons of spending time with my great aunt and uncle, learning the ways of golf and, unbeknownst to me at the time, allowing it to grow into a major part of my life. Some of these flashbacks occur while I drive up the long lane, through a tunnel of trees that manage to block out even the brightest sunlight, or during a round when I pause to appreciate the oak trees that greatly exceed my own age. I sit and remember the earliest lessons given to me by Gordy, my great uncle, learning more about life than golf technique. I reminisce on the special feeling aroused deep inside of me that only existed because of Gordy’s unique ability to make everyone, myself included, gain a sense of importance, if only

I could not move. I was still curled into a tight ball at the center of

The heavy clear doors slammed open one by one; big bright lights pierced my eyes from above with little images of ceiling tiles surrounding me. I could barely focus on the objects let alone recognize them. People in navy blue uniforms huddled around me appearing to be in a hurry based on their bright red faces and the drops of sweat that were slowly dripping down their flushed skin. The drips of perspiration slowly puddled on my cold, dry skin. When all of a sudden the commotion around me came to an abrupt halt. Without warning, I blinked and found myself once again starring at the ceiling. Except this time my vantage point was much clearer and I saw my battered reflection of my broken and beaten down body. In the distance I could faintly

Before I could even respond I heard two loud thumps. I looked up and POW!, the rubber ball struck me in the face. The impact knocked me off my feet.

Since the age of four, when I was barely old enough to swing a putter, I have loved the game of golf. My dad, passing his love of the game down to me, would take me out every Sunday to Woods Edge Golf Course in Edgewood; he taught me the ins and outs and the dos and don’ts of the sport. One of the earliest memories I have of these trips to Woods Edge is being a mere couple of inches from driving the cart into a pond while dad was teeing off; this would definitely be considered a don’t in the world of golf. I received my first set of clubs for Christmas when I was eight and a year later, a pass to Pin Oak. Boy was I thrilled. I began to golf by myself and learn my own lessons through my experiences on the course. But as I grew as a golfer on my own, my dad was still there tweaking my swing in the back yard and taking trips to Edgewood with me. My dad is a big reason why I have a passion for the game of golf.