Yesterday, Rory McIlroy won the Masters golf championship for the second year in a row — making him one of four players to do that back to back. Last night, after we got home from Skylar’s Improv Level 5 Grad Show at iO Theater, Bob and I watched a recording of the final several holes (having managed to stay offline and avoid spoilers). However, being past my bedtime, I was tired and kept dozing.
At one point when I nodded off, I *saw* my dad (who died in July 2021) sitting in his recliner in the den, at my childhood home on Isabella Street, where he loved to watch golf on TV.
Then I woke up and heard the commentators talking about how Rory and his dad (who are from Northern Ireland) had played a special round of golf together a week ago Sunday at Augusta.
Shortly thereafter, Bob and I watched Rory clinch his win on the 18th hole with -13. All of that felt meaningful and magical, especially since my dad taught me to play the game we both enjoy(ed) so much.
I am participating in my friend Mel’s writing exercise/blog hop called #MicroblogModays. Click on the hashtag to learn more about it. Here’s the link to this week’s post and list of other blog entries. Join us!
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I really enjoyed reading this. The connection between your dad, golf, and that moment watching Rory’s win makes the story feel especially meaningful. It’s amazing how certain memories can come back so vividly through something as simple as a game we shared with someone we love.
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