May 17, 2006

I Belong Here

(Editor's note: I hadn't had much to write recently, as evidenced by the lack of entries since January 1. But, here's something to remind you that I'm still here.

COLUMBIA, S.C.--Las Vegas in February usually isn't warm enough to play golf. Odds be dammed, the sticks came with me to the Litherland-Skylar wedding weekend.

My first outing was to Black Mountain Golf Club, a course south of Sin City in Henderson, and I got put with two other guys in search of a game. One of the two others was meeting friends in town for a bachelor party. He beat everyone to town by several hours, so, why not find a golf course and knock the little white ball around?

"I just started playing four months ago," he'd said.

We had no reason to doubt this guy from Sacramento. No reason to care to doubt him, so even though he started booming his drives on the number six tee box, we just played along.

The other guy introduced himself with his first name--Steve--and a simple, three-word sentence that had several meanings depending on the circumstances.

"I belong here," he said.

I belong here--like something out of some brainwashing movie.

I belong here.

His words floated in air for a moment before I quipped that that sounded rather ominous, as if he'd been searching for a place to be throughout his lifetime and finally found it.

I belong here.

We played the round with those words still floating in my head.

"It makes the game seem more like a game," he'd said when he talked about how he comes out with his 12-year-old son to the course without having to pay daily greens fees.

We played the round; some of us improving as time went on, and some disintegrating. I won't say who started falling apart, but let's just say that without a warm-up, I used the first eight holes to stretch and get used to the motions of the game. With the exception of a shank on hole number 10, I made a couple of pars.

But even through the months after I played that round of golf, after I'd gotten back from Vegas and played at several places in town as a paying patron, those words still lingered.

I'd played at quite a few public courses around Columbia--the private ones are a bit stuffy for my taste. They're nice enough country golf courses. One course with a new superintendent even makes a regular pitch for new members at a good rate.

But they just didn't feel like home, and with my frequency of playing going up during the warmer time of the year in our northern hemisphere, I was giving serious consideration to finding a place to join and become a member.

Those words Steve said to me in Vegas kept floating through my memory when I'd ask myself if this--wherever it was I was standing at that moment--is where I belonged.

The simple fact is that I didn't. It just wasn't me. While the other patrons were fine, no one seemed to be much like me.

Then I played a couple rounds at the Ft. Jackson Golf Club when I discovered that they offered a veterans membership program. I immediately felt right at home. There was a continuous rat-a-tat-tat of rifle fire from the nearby basic training ranges, an occasional "big boom" from the simulated artillery rounds, the whirring of Black Hawks and the recording of a bugler playing at various times of the day most notably being retreat at the end of the workday.

Even though I'd never been in the Army--never really wanted to be in anything but the U.S. Navy--this was it. I was at home.

I was at home with the old duffer retirees, the active duty folks and everyone writing the date with the number of the day preceding the month. I was at home with the loud boisterous carrying on that military folks do, the swearing mixed with the politeness and courtesy people have for each other onboard a military base.

So, Monday I decided to accept the invitation to join the club. I was giddy when I went over to the clubhouse and paid my first membership dues and became a member of the Ft. Jackson Golf Club.

The best part is when I get to introduce myself to someone new, someone I hadn't played golf with yet, shake his hand and say, "Hi. I'm Rich. I belong here."

- Rich