Entry 24.5

I know I am saying something that you all know when I say golf is one of the most frustrating games of all time. You can everything right one day and the next day feel completely lost and left wondering why you even play at all. Or it’s those days where you hit your driver great, irons are spot on and then can’t even get a putt to sniff the hole. Or it’s the other way around. Your tee shots never even touch the grass because you are in the woods all day, but you make every putt you look at. I know I’ve had those days. Every student I have ever worked with has complained about those days. Now I want you to go back and read that paragraph again. Don’t worry. I’ll wait. Go ahead.

How much of that paragraph was negative to you? If you are like me from 5 years ago, you probably saw a lot of negative. But you probably saw some positive as well. Now what if I had started that paragraph off “I know I am saying something you all know when I say golf is one of the most giving games of all time.” Would you have scratched your head and wondered what I put in my coffee this morning? Because when I first started playing this game, I might’ve wondered what I put in my coffee. Golf can be one of the most frustrating, annoying, overwhelming, infuriating times of your life. But for some people, golf is a gift.

In 2019, I deployed in January to Afghanistan not realizing how much it would change my life. In March, on my way to the exfil (pickup) location from that mission I slipped on a wet rock and slid down a steep muddy hill. I stopped by colliding the left side of my head to the trunk of a tree. I don’t think I was knocked out but the next thing I can clearly remember is our terp (interpreter) asking my team leader if I was dead. Thankfully I was not. I went to bed with a stiff neck and a hammering headache. The next day both were still present. I walked into the office, popped a Ranger candy (800 milligram ibuprofen) and got to work prepping for the next mission. I can still remember how stiff my neck was and how I had to turn my whole body to look at things. After a couple hours I got up to take a break and without thinking went to crack my neck. Next thing I knew I was on the floor. It was a fight not to get sent to the in-country hospital to get check out. Looking back, I probably should have but that’s not what we did. We just rangered on. After a few days my neck was loose again but there was always a nag, and I had headaches on and off.

About six weeks later, on another mission we had some radio interference, and we couldn’t get in touch with the breach team. Being the closest one, I started to head that way to find out what was going on. I peered around the corner of a compound and the only thing I saw was a hand pulling up sharply away from the other hand. I’d been around long enough to know what that means. Someone just pulled the detonator for the explosive breach. This breach happened to be a solid steel drive-in gate. That means a very large boom. The breach team was at the min safe distance (closest you should be from the breach to not be impacted by the concussion). I was not. I was about one fifth of that distance. What’s cool when you pull a detonator is you can actually watch the little glowing explosion zip along inside the clear tubing if you’re paying attention. What’s not cool is being so close to see that little glowing plug climbing from the wire on the ground up to the explosive. I had enough time to lower my helmet and turn my head to shield myself. I’ve been close to some explosions. I was an anti-tank leader, so I had shot some really big shells and rockets. When I was a private, I survived a triple shock (two explosive waves colliding together and amplifying the shock wave which can kill people. Ask me about that story sometime. It’s short but looking back it’s funny since I survived). This boom was like nothing I had ever felt before. I spent the next two hours throwing up sitting on the porch while the rest of the guys did their thing. I’m sure the walk to exfil I must’ve looked drunk because the world was still spinning. Somehow, I fought off going to the hospital again.

On my last mission, all hell broke loose for a few short minutes. Well, I say for a few short minutes but that’s just my perspective with my experience and training. In reality, we were getting shot at before the birds (helicopters) even touched down). I could hear the bullets slamming into the side of the bird over the roar of the engine and rotating blades. As I ran off the bird, I could see sparks sporadically on the ramp as bullets ricocheted off. That didn’t bother me at all although I had to shove a few guys forward to get them moving. Once the birds were back in the air all went quiet again. As my element moved towards our objective it was quiet. Very quiet. Our point man got turned around in the initial chaos, so we were headed towards the compound from a less than desirable direction. Rather than come from an open direction where we had cover, we approached from an alley and that is when it happened. Blinding light in front of us accompanied by the familiar sound of machine gun fire. I felt shards from the wall next to me peppering me in the face from the impact of the rounds. I don’t remember how I ended up on the ground or how long I was there. The eerie silence had come as fast as it disappeared as far as I was concerned. The pain in that moment wasn’t the worst feeling. It was the fact that I was alone and had no idea where the rest of the unit had gone. I picked a direction and ran firing back at the window the ambush had originated from. Thankfully, I picked the right direction. Once I got back, I began to assess myself and that’s when I found I had been hit in the plate right above my heart.

Those events were the ones that led to the end of my military career. There’s a lot more to each of those stories but I’m not ready to share that information freely yet. The physical result of those injuries was determined to be three major traumatic brain injuries, cervical structure damage and some shrapnel to my left arm. But let’s turn back to how golf is a giving game. Besides the physical damage, there was some other damage as well. I’ve told you I just wanted to play golf again after my last deployment in an earlier entry. It was in the game of golf that I found a respite from all that had happened, the rest of the world and from myself. Golf gave me a few seconds of relief every time I stood over the ball. That 1.68” diameter, 1.62-ounce white dimpled globe became my world for a few seconds. Nothing else mattered. Those small gifts of time continued to grow. I decided to bring HOPE to my fellow veterans. Golf gave me a new passion and drive in life. Then I came to Methodist.

At Methodist, golf continued to give. The first weekend of school, it gave me one of my best friends. The game has taught me so much about itself and about life. I am one of the luckiest people on the planet because of the game of golf. I have a job that I look forward to getting up to every day. I don’t dread going to work like a lot of people. Golf gave me that possibility. Golf gave me my hobby (ie playing golf). Golf has given me ways to fill my mind with things I want to think about like swing technique and human performance instead of focusing on everything I no longer have. Through the game of golf, I get to work with amazing people like you to help you do what you enjoy even better. I get to see the smiles when a movement pattern change we are working on happens. I can’t express how I feel when I see the smile on my player’s face. The smile when it clicked. I am addicted to that feeling of seeing a player being even more excited because they got it. Golf gives that to me.

I chose this week to make this entry because this Friday we are starting PGA HOPE. The eight weeks that we are in session golf just gives in abundance. The smiles when a new player starts their journey with the game. When a seasoned player refines their game just a little. For some of those players, it goes well beyond that. We have had players tell us that the game has made them smile for the first time in decades. We have had players who said the game has given them back their health. In our Spring session, one player said she hadn’t been able to reach overhead for years despite all the physical therapy. At the end of the eight weeks not only was she able to reach overhead, but she was also pain free. We’ve even had at least one player say that the game has saved their life. Those stories are just a few of them. There are so many more. In those instances, golf is giving once again. More importantly than what we receive is what those veterans have been given.

I want to invite you to participate with us in PGA HOPE. I want you to see how giving golf really is. It goes well beyond the swing, the competition and the money. We will have more than thirty veterans attending each week. All of them searching for something that the game of golf can give. It differs for every veteran. You don’t have to make it every week. If you can’t make it for both hours because you have class until 1050, come after class. If you just want to watch for a little while, just watch. If you want to jump right in and get your hands dirty, please do. There are so many ways that you can get involved that extend past the two hours we meet on Fridays (1000-1200). We can help link you up with a veteran who wants some extra help. Or who struggles with the large group setting but one on one would be more comfortable. Golf will give you both something. I promise. So many times, we just think of golf as a game and nothing more. But it can be so much more and give you so much more than just a hobby or enjoyment. You just have to let it. I don’t even want to imagine what my life might be like if it wasn’t for the game of golf. It has given me so much. So much more than I deserve. My story is just one of millions of how giving the game of golf is. Now take a few moments and take a good look within and ask yourself the following questions. What has the game of golf given me? How can I use the game of golf to give to someone else?