Spencer and Me.

This is my 9 year old Spencer.
She doesn't like her name.
She likes to sing and watch TV and read Harry Potter books and annoy her big sister.
She plays house-league soccer and has about the greatest laugh I've ever heard.
She's not the most athletic kid but as it turns out she does have a VERY GOOD golf swing.
Must be genetic.

Up until last night we've only ever just hit balls on a range. She's learned through imitation and some instruction. She whiffs a lot, but when she hits it, it goes.
We played a little par three course near the house and on the first tee we get paired up with a couple of 20 year old dudes.
I say we'll pick up her ball if she is slowing things down.

So Spencer gets up on the first tee with her driver, 110 yards from the hole and just whacks the shite out of it.
High, soft, draw, pin-high right.
The dude's jaws drop. I beam with pride. Spencer looks at me with that kid-grin that says, "Howd you like that Pop?"

4 holes later she got a blister that popped and we had to stop, but I'll never forget that first tee shot and neither will she.
She says she can't wait to go back and that's the best a Dad can hope for.

BTW. This is exactly the kind of story I miss being able to tell my Dad. He would have loved to hear it and he would have loved the way she swings a club.