Non-fiction: Hole in One

Will Stutman, Writer, Pub

It was spring break and I was playing golf with my dad and his dad, my pop-pop, at Eastpointe Country Club in Palm Beach Gardens, Florida. The rays of sunshine were illuminating the course as the clouds like cotton candy dotted the sky on the warm Monday afternoon; a perfect day for golf. Due to the weather, there were a lot of people sitting on the clubhouse porch which overlooks hole 16 on the East Course. The cool breeze was billowing the red flag that sat in the middle of the island green over the water 115 yards from the tees. I let my pop-pop tee off first because he had won the previous hole with a four when my dad and I had each taken fives. My pop-pop took out his pitching wedge and hit an incredible shot that landed what appeared to be about 2 feet from the hole. I had not been too keen to lose one of my nice new golf balls so I dug into the depths of my golf bag to unearth a dirty, old ball. I asked my dad what club he thought I should use and as per usual, my pop-pop answered the question for him. “It doesn’t matter what club you use. Just hit the damn ball.” After some short math accounting for a slight uphill and a light breeze in my face, I pulled my eight iron out of my bag. I teed up my dirty golf ball and decided to take a practice swing. The face of my club skimmed the grass and I knew that was the one. I stepped up and hit the ball. Soaring through the bright blue sky went my ball landing on the green approximately five feet behind the hole. Due to the backspin of the club, that old, dirty, somewhat white, golf ball slowly rolled backwards approaching the hole and then suddenly, it vanished from sight. That was the best day of my life.