The PGA Championship is Here. HoHum.

The PGA championship is in Rochester, NY this week. The golfers on this illustrious tour have decided to make a swing through my hometown and every one is giddy. The press is out in force with sightings of Tiger Woods and Phil Mickleson. I saw one picture that appeared to show Mr. Woods putting on footwear while leaning against a van. Images like that almost bring me to tears; the elite and famous of golf, putting on sneakers the same exact way I do. Oh! The humanity.

The press has reported on which fine restaurants the golfers are visiting, who among them may be visiting Niagara Falls (a local attraction, if you don’t mind driving an hour to get there), and which among them have sampled Rochester’s world famous “Garbage Plate”.

I ate a Garbage Plate once and I also golfed once. Just not at the same time, nor in the same place. I golfed in Wisconsin, which is far away from NY. This was to protect myself against the paparazzi photographing my first, and only, feeble attempt at golf. It would not do to have my adoring public see me klutzing about that far away fairway.

I am not attending the championship at Oak Hill this week; instead I have elected to stay home and putt around the house. The shed out back needs to be painted, the basement needs cleaning, and with all the hoopla around town, the dust all seems to be settling in my living room.

Speaking of far away, Eldest is in the land of avocados this week. She left for Guatemala with Roberts Wesleyan’s Enactus  team this past Monday and will return next Saturday night. I think she chose this club to join, and this trip to take, to avoid the golf tournament. Her flight took her across the Gulf of Mexico, just about the time many of the golfers were flying into Rochester. On a side note, when she returns she has requested that we take a trip to the zoo.

I asked Middlest and Littlest what they thought about the PGA being in Rochester. Middlest responded with a laconic, “I really don’t care.” Littlest perked up just slightly and responded, “What golf tournament?”  

Neither is upset at missing a chance to see Tiger Woods out on the links, but they are excited to go with Eldest on a trip to see the lynx..and maybe a tiger too.

Considering my Eldest Daughter's Birthday

This next week, Eldest will celebrate her last birthday as a teenager. She has, in the space of one year, gone from entering college as a freshman in September to being listed as a Junior at the end of the spring semester. I miss her as a little girl, but am amazed at the young woman she has grown to be.

Earlier this year she came to me and said, “Dad, I want to go to Guacamole.”

I gazed back at her with that deep searching look that a father has for his daughter. And I thought to myself, “Guacamole? What is she talking about? She wants to go to a dip made from Avacados? Maybe I misheard her?” All of these, and many other thoughts crashed through my head.

Finally, I mustered up the courage and asked, “Guacamole?”

She looked at me strangely, “Yes, I think Guatemala produces the finest avocados in the world. But, I tell you I want to go to Guatemala and all you can do is ask me for Guacamole? You have lost it Father.”

My thoughts went something like this. “Whew, my daughter doesn’t want to be a dip. She doesn’t want to do strange avant garde art using guacamole. She just wants to go to Guatemala....  Wait! What? My little girl wants to leave me and go to a foreign country?!”

She saw the look of panic and fear on my face and gently reassured me. “Now Daddy, I don’t want to go there forever. The Enactus Club from college is going there on a missions trip. We are only going for 12 days. We are doing some work at an orphanage and a few other places. It is quite safe.”

“You want to go to Guatemala?” I stammered, still processing the shock.

“Yes, I have said it twice already.”

“The first time you said, 'Dad, I want to go to Guacamole.’”

Eldest rolled her eyes, “Dad, you are going deaf.”

To be quite clear, I am not going deaf; it is simply that people in today’s society mumble. With all the texting and Facebooking, and tweeting, and pinteresting, no one can articulate clearly anymore. This whole topic foments so much ire in me that when someone accuses me in mumble, of going deaf, I respond in the same way I responded to my daughter.

“What did you say? I didn’t hear you; I think I am going deaf.”

She replied, loudly, “I want to go to Guatemala!”

“Avocado you do.” I mumbled back.