I am sitting in the office of a mini golf course, feeling gratitude. The gratitude is due to the contrast I see between those who are connected and those who are not. My wife sent me two pictures in the last few days. One picture was of her and my daughter playing the board game Clue. The one today is of my son playing Monopoly with Nana.
The view I have now is of a mother who paid for 36 mini golf holes for her two children. These kids are not much older than my son. The mother reminds me of my sister-in-law in her face, if you were to take a thousand pounds of empathy and generosity out.
I initially rang her up to play with the kids. Her annoyance was made known just after the payment went through, to the tune of a hesitant question, “Did you charge for me, too?” In her haste to open her phone, she did not check the screen to confirm what she was paying for. Rather than waste any of the money or have me issue a refund, she begrudgingly grabbed a club and a ball.
The mother played the round “with” the boys, but was usually three holes behind them. When they finished the first 18, one of the boys asked if they could play the other course. The mother said yes and came to the desk to pay. This time she had explicitly said, “Just for them.” Her demeanor screamed, “I don’t want to answer any other questions.” Her posture was one of the more uninviting types that I deal with every day. So I refrained from asking her, “You’re going to stay with them, right?”
Out of her pocket came her phone. She stared into it for another 18 holes, still at a pace about three to four holes behind the boys. The boys were mildly reckless, but far from the worst I’ve ever had. Maybe three words were said between the adult and the kids that round.
I imagine that these boys go to public school. I imagine this mom works for a living. It’s either that, or she’s a stay-at-home housewife with no real responsibility. Bringing them to mini golf is just her way of getting them out of the house and to burn off some energy.
Watching each of the kids finish hole after hole, a small part of me felt pity for this mom. Every time the little golf balls would drop into the hole, it was like little pieces of paper with memories written on them were blowing away. Maybe the mom would’ve noticed if she looked up from her phone for more than just to step over the bricks. If she did, she might’ve been able to pick up a few of those pieces of paper and put them in her pocket. Instead, they just passed her by, one after another.
The saddest part is that once that little piece of paper starts to blow away, there was no getting it back.
That’s the thing that makes me feel grateful. My wife and my mother-in-law would never let those little pieces of paper touch the ground.
Nos & Rehtaf, Dnabsuh 