This Just In – My late father was a man with a brilliant mind. His mathematical aptitude was … ridiculous. An MIT graduate, he was a life actuary, able to do calculations in his head that would give most of us a migraine to even consider. He also skipped off to law school to improve his critical thinking skills.
Although he loved being outdoors for swimming and being buried in the sand at the beach by his children, his sports enthusiasm was mainly about being a fan – especially of Boston’s Red Sox and Bruins.
On the 90-minute drive to Fenway one summer day, we received a stern briefing about the game we were about to see. This was expected to be what was called a “pitching duel” my father said with great authority. This would likely be a low scoring game – not a lot of hits and home runs.
No whining, he said. It might get boring at times, but that’s the nature of a baseball game.
It sounded awful. Our seats were out in the waving wheat of right field with a beautiful view of the bright yellow Pesky pole, located 302 feet down the right field line. It’s hard to appreciate strikeouts from such a spot and the jumbotron was awaiting invention.
Alas, we were saved by two of baseball’s greatest traditions. First, it was T-Shirt day and I got my first Red Sox shirt. I wore that thing for years until it had no hope of fitting or standing up to the rigors of machine washing.
Second, they play the game for a reason. The Sox won the game with a score of something like 11-7. Plenty of fly balls into our area, including some homers for our boys.
The greatest individual sports achievement for my dad would have to be what happened on a family golf outing in 1998 on the Gold Course at the Wailea Resort in Maui. My siblings and our families were all in Maui thanks to the generosity of my father and step-mother. We were there at a meeting of the Society of Actuaries – and organization that had the good sense to elect Anna (my step-mother) as its president.
On a straightaway par four, decidedly downhill, Dad launched his drive. It sailed along over the fairway, then took a dramatic turn leftward, hooking out of site.
After his playing partners hit, the group headed down the fairway for the next shot, but first, a search ensued for Dad’s ball, last seen heading into the wooded area along the cart path. No luck in locating it at first, so he considered dropping another ball. My dear husband called out from 150 yards away … down beside the green, pointing to the ball.
The cart paths on the Gold Course are concrete. Dad had landed his wayward drive onto the path, it rolled down the hill and hopped up onto the fringe, near the green. He went down to the ball, chipped it onto the green and had the ball in the hole with two putts. Standing proudly over the cup, hands on his hips, he announced “Another routine par.”
My siblings and I will be exchanging text messages and predictions about this year’s U.S. Open which will culminate on Father’s Day this Sunday. Dad really enjoyed this tradition in the last many years, so we continue it in part in his memory and mostly for our own delight. Happy Father’s Day, y’all.
Jean Bolduc is a freelance writer and the host of the Weekend Watercooler on 97.9 The Hill. She is the author of “African Americans of Durham & Orange Counties: An Oral History” (History Press, 2016) and has served on Orange County’s Human Relations Commission, The Alliance of AIDS Services-Carolina, the Orange County Housing Authority Board of Commissioners, and the Orange County Schools’ Equity Task Force. She was a featured columnist and reporter for the Chapel Hill Herald and the News & Observer.
Readers can reach Jean via email – jean@penandinc.com and via Twitter @JeanBolduc
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