I changed into my golf shoes, purchased a bucket of balls and headed out to find a spot on the grassy area where I had plenty of room. As a lefty, I have to make sure that I can finish my swing without interfering with the right handed golfer behind me.
I found a spot, poured about 100 balls onto the ground and started practicing. Shortly after I got set up, a little boy and his dad set up about twelve feet away from me. He was right handed, so we faced each other in the tee area.
The boy was very young, maybe five or six, and had his own little golf bag and set of clubs. His dad had bought a small bucket of about forty balls. He stood over his son and showed him how to grip the club, position his feet, and swing the club. I suspect it was his first time at the range.
As I hit one ball after another, I observed the dad's patience, his frustration, and his encouragement as his little boy tried to get the ball off the ground. Then all of a sudden, I heard the crisp click of a club hitting the ball and the ball went into the air. The boy was so excited he ran to his dad for a hug, then returned to his club to try it again. I could tell his dad was pleased that he had taught his son to hit the ball.
They finished the bucket and headed to their car. I was reminded of my two boys and the time I spent with then teaching them to play golf. I wouldn't trade those days for anything.
There's a special bond between father and child when Dad takes the time to teach them to do things. I was glad to see a dad spending time with his son. He needs his father's guidance.