Narrative Essay On Golf Experience

Nine, the age I was when my fascination with golf began. I still do not know why I so desperately wanted to golf, but I do know that I was determined to learn. That summer between fourth and fifth grade, I was registered for a day camp by my mother, who was confused by my new interest, though supportive nonetheless. Every day, for three weeks, I would arrive at the golf course early in the morning, eager to play and equipped with my lustrous deep red set of metallic clubs. We were divided into groups and proceed to different parts of the golf course. Like most standard golf courses, this course also had a driving range and additional putting greens for exclusively practicing those skills. We spent the cool mornings in those two areas surrounded …show more content…
The instructors decided to bring us to the putting green first. The air was already frosty and the trees barren. The sky was overcast forewarning us of the snow to come. We all stood there shivering, bundled in our coats with our hands in our pockets, as we watched the instructors explain how to swing and aim. In golf all swings require minimal to no movement in the wrists and arms. For me, this was counterintuitive. I set a ball down on the green and squatted behind it to see which way I would have to hit to get it in the hole. It seemed that I had a direct shot, so I stood up and prepared to swing. Once I did, the ball traveled far to the right, and I retrieved it quickly. I was embarrassed; I had no idea how I could have failed at something so simple. I returned to the hole to see if there was a slant that I had not accounted for. There was none, so I decided to keep my original observation. I placed the ball down in its original location and decided to give it another try. Again, the ball scudded across the short green grass to the right of the hole. I stood there for a moment, bewildered. Then I chased after the ball and quickly returned to the spot I began at. My fingers were becoming cold, so I rubbed my hands together, before seizing my freezing metal club. I decided to take a practice swing and scrutinize every moment of it. I noticed that I was slightly bending my wrists. Once more, I set my ball down in the same position and stiffened my arms and hands. I gently lifted my club back and followed through. I heard the a rattling noise, the kind made when a golf ball reaches its final destination. I looked up to see that I had made it into the hole. I then attempted to make it into another hole on the green, but I decided not to tense my arms up as much to avoid exhausting them. I took another swing and heard the second of what would be a series of clattering sounds. With each shot I gained more