Those who know and love me are fully aware of my little jaunt over to the left coast last week. It seems that my folks felt I didn’t get enough golf over the holidays and needed to come out for one more week before the new semester.
I am not an excellent golfer, but rather a mere enthusiast. Besides being super fun, golf has somehow occupied a special place in my world. You see, it is the first time my parents and I have anything in common. Before golf, the holidays were an exercise in tedium. It was an unending Law & Order marathon, with respites of knockdown drag-out arguments. Now that we have found golf as a commonality, well what can I say. For the first time in my adult life, my parents and I like to hang out.
To those who are unfamiliar with a golfer’s day, let me say that many of our tee times begin in the wee hours of the morning. These days usually start off with my mom gently prodding me awake in time for a shower and some eats before heading out to the course. All this before sunrise. [Aside: Did I mention that in being retired, my parents reset their internal clocks to wake up with the roosters? That is, if there were roosters in Redondo Beach.]
To be honest, this is probably the only part about golf that I can’t get behind. It isn’t that I am not a morning person. Once I am up and out, I am fine. It’s just that I hate the up and out part. I really like staying in bed.
Because of my dawdling, there were a few times that we were… let’s just call it “a bit hurried.” For those who don’t know, this behavior is simply intolerable to my Pops. He is the irritating type who is always so early, he makes you feel guilty for showing up on time. I have no doubt that he questions my legitimacy each time he sits in the car waiting for me. Not that I mind, really. I do the same every time I find him waiting in the car without letting me know that he was out there.
Familiar with my way of being, Pop warned me the night before our big day at Oak Quarry that we would be leaving at 6:10 AM. Sharp. As my mother wouldn’t be joining us, she would probably be sleeping in. Ergo, there would be no friendly wakeup snuggle. It would be just the blaring alarm to shock me out of bed.
Waking at o’god o’clock, I went through the regular morning ablutions, got into the cutest golf outfit ever, and got my act downstairs. Oddly, all was quiet. So when there was neither hustle nor bustle, I was confused. The Krups was hot and the coffee was fresh. I checked their room. No sign of them anywhere. I called out, but there was nothing. It wasn’t making any sense. It was as if they just disappeared. It was 5:45 AM and I was alone in Redondo Beach.
Now it might have been the ungodly hour, or perhaps it was because I was still wiping the sleepies from my eyes, but for some reason, my reduction by way of Occam’s razor led me to believe that I must have been Left Behind. Yes. Please notice the capital letters. I don’t mean forgotten because I spent too much time primping. Truly, I believed that the Rapture came and went, and I didn’t make the cut.
I thought, “this is it. I will have to get the mark of the devil to buy apple juice. I am so screwed. I bet Dawn and John are already in heaven right now. What did they do in that Kirk Cameron movie? Maybe the zombie infestation has already begun. Crap! I don’t have an exit strategy mapped out for California!” I ran to the garage to see if my father was waiting for me, as he is wont to do. No dad. Slight panic set in. They wouldn’t all Rapture without me. They’d wake me up before they go go. Where the hell is everybody?!
Wait Connie. Think. Think. No car. SUV’s aren’t taken up during the Rapture, are they? In case you haven’t figure this out, I am quite stupid in the morning.
It wasn’t until a 45 minutes later when my father returned home. As my relief set in, I shot him the same look he usually shares with me. He was late and he knew it. With a slightly sheepish look, my father asked if I was ready. With all the excitement of the Rapture past, you can bet your bippy I was!