This week, people across the northern half of this continent, not just golfers, are reminded that the sun does shine, birds do chirp, and that flowers and green grass aren't figments of our imagination. However, when I think of the Masters, I am reminded mostly of my Dad. I would guess most golfers would say that the US Open is the "father-son" major with it culminating on Father's Day, but not I.
It's
uncanny how vividly I can remember the VHS library in my childhood home in
Toronto. I can still see the side of one particular VHS tape with my Dad's
handwriting in all capital letters, "1986 Masters - DO NOT TAPE OVER UNDER PENALTY OF
DEATH." (My Dad is a die hard Nicklaus fan). My first memory of watching the Masters with my Dad was that following year, as a baseball obsessed eight year old. When Larry Mize sank that long pitch and run from the back right of 11 green in the playoff to rip
Greg Norman's heart out, I knew there was something really cool about golf. I eventually started playing a lot more golf than baseball and it's all because of the Masters.
My
Dad had always gone down to the Masters on a trip out of Toronto for the third
round of the tournament. Fly down in the morning, watch the golf, fly
home late at night. I was very jealous. I would always bug him about when I was going to be able to go, to which I heard the familiar response of
"when you're old enough." As we parents know, that's a phrase that just doesn't
add up for kids - so like any other kid, I kept asking. Then Christmas 1997 arrived.
There was an envelope in the tree from my Dad. In it was a piece of paper listing a whole bunch of names, two of those names being Robert
Gibb and Matthew Gibb. It was the trip
to the Masters. He and I were going that
following spring. I couldn't believe it.
Augusta
National is a place that is not justified until you see it with your own eyes.
HDTV, 4K, 3D, whatever technology is the latest rage, it doesn’t matter - nothing will ever match seeing Augusta with your own eyes. The smell, the sheer size
of the place, the undulation, it's an amazing place when you first lay eyes on it.
We had a perfect day. We
walked the entire course, we hung out around amen corner, we ate some pimento cheese sandwiches, we raided the merchandise tent. But all good things must end, and as we were about to exit the gates off of
the fifth fairway on that late Saturday afternoon, I wanted to take a bit with me. I knelt down, ripped out some grass and shoved it in my pocket. (Yes, I smuggled grass into Canada as a 18 year old.) When I got home, I
kept the clippings in this little case where I kept the ball that I used to make my first
eagle. I knew that was one of the best days I’d ever had. What I never could have imagined was that one
day I would spend a few days playing golf with my Dad on that same pristine grass.
It all began with a
very innocent question posed by my mother in June 2004, "What could
we do that would be fun and different for your father's 60th birthday next
year?" To which I replied, "Not
sure...that's always a tough one with Dad." She immediately replied back with, "Well, a lifelong goal of his is to play Augusta National...any way to make that
happen?"
My
mom is not a naive person, especially when it comes to golf. She has
lived in the household of two golf nuts her whole life so this was a genuine
question. After I paused for a few seconds, we both started to kind of
laugh at the sheer insanity of the question. I soon thought to myself, maybe this isn't impossible. After all, I wasn't asking for myself, I was simply trying to arrange a game for my Dad.
At
that point in my life, I had met 3 members of Augusta. I had met one
during my time with the University of Minnesota Golf Team, the second while
competing in the British Amateur, and the third
at my home club in Toronto, St George's G&CC. Nevertheless, I was a tad gunshy about asking the question. As any serious golfer will
attest, you simply don't ask to
be invited to places like Augusta National, even if you're asking on behalf of your Dad. But on the flip side, I kept hearing the words of my father, "You always gotta ask for
the order...the worst that can happen is you'll get a 'no.'"
Let’s just say I followed my Dad's advice. My Dad - and I! - were able to
spend 2 days and 2 nights at Augusta National, courtesy of one of the nicest,
most genuine people I have ever met. It
was he, his nephew who was about my age at the time, my Dad and myself. We played four times including the par
3, ate dinner in the clubhouse, and stayed in the Clifford Roberts cabin off
the first fairway. It was an extremely surreal experience and seems like
a dream even to this day. I realize not every
father and son gets to go to the Masters, let alone play Augusta National. But regardless of the venue, what matters is the time we've spent together because of our shared passion
of golf. That’s what makes this sport so special.
So every year, when the Masters
begins, I am reminded how incredibly lucky I am to have had such a great sport in my life which allows my Dad and I to spend time together. I’m now 34, married, with a 9 month old son, and you can guess where we
will be this Sunday afternoon.
Enjoy the week.
-MG
