You spend your whole parenting existence grooming your son to be a rock star or an internationally known artist or writer or even just a regular old cowboy, and in the end, he just wants to play golf and be an accountant. You try not to be disappointed; you really attempt to NOT be a show mom when you watch him at his little school events and the kid can’t even do the motions for the YMCA, for God’s sake, but whatever. He doesn’t like being on stage or performing for others.

Nope—instead he likes golf. And math.

So you look all over the city for some sort of golf program for 6-year-olds (nearly impossible, BTW) and get comments like, “Wow—you must be so proud! You have the next Tiger Woods on your hands! I bet he’ll start beating YOU soon” which would not be difficult at all, since you have NEVER played golf and NEVER will. You finally find him a golf program that you can sneak him into (he really should be 7) buy him some clubs. Buy him the wrong clubs (come on. Why don’t you buy left-handed clubs for a left-handed kid? Really?!) return them, buy him the right clubs.

And then you find yourself sitting on a golf course, wearing TOTALLY inappropriate clothes (black sundress, big earrings, black baseball hat, flip flops) surrounded by pre-teens in polo shirts and perky college kid coaches in their $100 golf attire attempting to come up with GOLF TERMS. Yep. Your little 6-year-old son is supposed to write his name vertically on a tiny piece of paper (as soon as he heard the word vertical, I knew this was going to be a group project) and then come up with a golf term that starts with each letter of his name. First AND last name.

Come on.

The next thing you know, you are busily paging through the book they gave you at this camp and copying down strange terms onto a piece of paper.

For some reason all you can come up with for “Y” is “yar” and then you realize that is a sailing term, not a golfing term.

But through all of this, your son LOVES this. He doesn’t care that he is the youngest one there by a few feet. That he is surrounded by kids who have been playing golf for years with their golf-loving parents. He actually RAISES HIS HAND when the coach asks questions and looks so intent and focused.

When you hear the perky coaches say the dreaded words, “And golf is also about respecting each other on the greens and wearing respectful clothes. So pretty soon we should start wearing polo shirts and tidy shorts” you try not to cringe, as the whole polo shirt/croc-wearing lifestyle is something you have always attempted to eschew away from.

You buy him a polo shirt. Granted—it is black with tiny white skulls on it—but it is indeed a polo shirt and insure that he will tuck it into his little khaki shorts next time. And like all good parents do, you support him. You are excited when he gets the ball close to the hole (puts? Chips? Whatever. I don’t know. He got the ball onto the really green part of the course) and are appreciative when the coaches tell you he is doing well.

And you try to not look wistfully at the arty kids at Target with their disheveled hair and black clothes and paint-stained hands. Because who knows—he’s only 6! He can change his mind! Maybe this golf/math thing is just a phase!

Secretly you know it’s not. And that your willful dreams of being backstage while your son fills Wembley Stadium are not to be.

That’s okay. He’ll be a golfer. Become an accountant. Maybe because he is REALLY good at math and will REALLY like golf he’ll be a REALLY good accountant and become a partner in some firm. And live in a big house in the suburbs.

Near a golf course.

So no visiting cool recording studios for you. Or light-infused artist lofts. Or even ridiculous communes somewhere in the deserts of Arizona.

That’s okay. You’re sure they have many fun things to do when you go visit him. At Ernst & Young…

This entry was posted on Sunday, July 3rd, 2011 at 7:20 am and is filed under Weekly Thought. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.

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