David had yet another Great Trauma today. He had a swollen jaw that made him look a bit like one of the chipmunks. It put me in the mind of when his father had an abscess, which is what I thought it was so off he went to the doctor.
Turns out, I need a placard for the door. I was right. The doctor prescribed penicillin and said he had no restrictions (other than chewing tobacco, alcohol and fast women) and since he is ten, he went swimming. After that, and since it looked like he had half a golf ball in his face, Michelle decided to take him golfing.
David loves golfing. Who woulda thought it? Personally, and I appologise to all of you golfers, I never got it. You hit a tiny white ball to a tiny hole. Repeatedly. I like Bocce. I love it. Tennis, I get. Volleyball and Basketball I love. Golf... yeah, no. But David? Loved it. He loved putting, he loved the golf cart, loved it. He wants to go again. He wants to go again tomorrow. He wants to join a team. He wants to go pro. (Is there a pro, Mom? I stared back at him blankly. Don't they wear pink?)
So my son has a new sport, and I am happy because David is happy and unlike four wheeling (where his death seems eminent) I think he would stay safe if he followed this one. There is no violence in golf. No contact (like wrestling or football) and no blood or gore (like the martial arts love he continues to support). I must say, I think we are getting somewhere.
But there are clubs. I shudder. I am sure he can think of something bad to do to or with the clubs. And irons. Sounds heavy. And he was talking about opening up the throttle on the golf cart. How fast can those things go?
Better not to speculate.