Woosey grew. Now he was 10. The bubble gum machine brought in revenue. As it did, Woosey began to caddy.
“Thank you, Woosey,” said Mr. Ah Tysho. “You are quiet, polite, and appear to like the game.”
Mrs. Tysho nodded.
“I do,” said Woosey. “It’s a marvelous creation. Everyone seems happy when playing. I must say, I like the walk.”
“Well, continue Woosey. Your walk will open paths,” Mr. Tysho went on. “Observe; and there are lessons to learn as you play.”
(Image of Woosey and Mr. & Mrs. Tysho on the golf course, clubs, carts)
So, Woosey grew, played when he was, allowed to (on Mondays, caddy days) and he studied men and women who combed putts straight to the hole, who arched their back, stayed balanced, followed through with a swing, and turned to face the target.
On top of #11 tee box, one evening he groaned. “Gosh. I need to know more.” Puffy clouds eased overhead as gentle sun’s rays fed wanting green grass. “Peaceful, yet powerful and dynamic, there’s science here dad. The grass, outside, I’d like to call all of it my home.”
(Image of Woosey Clemmons on #11 tee box)
Woosey caddied for Mr. Shofelt, regularly. A simple pull cart, the wheels were well-oiled.
“I like the frogs, the squirrels, the fish, and the deer,” he mummed.
“It’s all here. There’s magic and mystery,” said mustachioed Mr. Shofelt. “Too, we men like to compete, Woosey. The game’s grand.”
“Yes.” Mr. Nordquist nodded as they finished play. As Woosey replaced the flagstick, Mr. Nordquist peeped to Woosey. “Woosey, we chat, we laugh, we challenge, we suck-up glorious Mother Nature as we go, say thank you, mam, I’ll see you once more. You’re a kind-hearted lady we all adore.”
“Ho, golf, we do like it,” spat Mr. Shofelt.
“As do I,” said Woosey.
(Image of Woosey and Mr. Shofelt on the golf course, foursome, carts, clubs, green)