The Nine Lessons (24 page)
I had to be taken to the hospital in an ambulance. Erin showed up with Sophie a little while later. Sophie thought my swollen snakebites looked cool, and she begged me to take her and show her the snakes that had given them to me. I told her she was still too young to go on the golf course, but that I would be sure to point out the pond to her when she was a little older. She pouted and told me she already knows how to golf. “It’s easy,” she said very precociously. “Head down and knees bent!”
“That’s right!” I exclaimed. “It looks like we have another great golfer in the family.” I paused, looking at each of my children individually. “I guess that makes me the only duffer.”
Magnolia looked at me curiously. “You and Grandpa are always joking that golf is life,” she said. “When you say you’re a duffer, which one are you talking about? Golf or life?”
Erin snickered and waited to hear my response.
I told her, “I’m a duffer no matter how you look at it, sweetie. Just ask your mom.” The reality is, whether it’s golf or life, my shots generally fall short of the mark. But even though I’m not very good at it, I thank God for a wonderful wife to walk the course with, for incredible children who teach me more about myself each day, and for every opportunity I’m given to try to improve my game.
Nick straightened up and spoke very seriously. “I don’t think you’re a duffer, Dad.” My heart melted all over again, just as it had on the day he and Magnolia were born and a million times since.
I was worn out from wrestling snakes, so Erin took the kids downstairs to the cafeteria so I could take a little nap. The nurses changed shifts right after they left and before long an elderly nurse with brilliant white hair came in to check on me. “Augusta?” she said quizzically as she read my medical chart. “That’s an interesting name.”
I agreed. “I was named in honor of the great Augusta National golf course. But you can call me August.”
“Oh,” she said. “Are you a good golfer?”
The obvious answer to her question was a resounding “no,” but I paused briefly to give it some more consideration, especially in light of Nick’s assertion that I am not, in his eyes, the duffer I suppose myself to be. I thought back on all the ups and downs of my life. I mulled over the mistakes I’ve made over the years, the resentment I once harbored against my father, and the struggles I endured as a kid with the loss of my mother. Then I reflected on the joys of meeting and marrying Erin, on everything we’ve gone through during the course of our partnership together, and on the simultaneous challenge and blessing of raising children. “I try my best,” I said honestly.
She smiled at me and said, “I’ve played a lot of golf myself over the years, and trying your best is about as good as any of us can do.” There was a certain wisdom in her voice, born, no doubt, from the tender womb of experience. The nurse shook the saline bag hanging above my bed to make sure it was still dripping fluids into my vein.
I smiled knowingly and nodded in approval. The old nurse may not have known my father’s golf-life mantra, but she couldn’t have summed up the philosophy any better even if she had.
“Exactly,” I chortled softly, as I drifted off to sleep. “Try your best… and take lots of mulligans.”
D
uring the past year
I’ve come to understand that writing and selling books is legitimate work; however, it turns out that very little of that work has anything to do with the author. Behind the scenes there are hosts of talented and dedicated people who help turn a writer’s ramblings into something printable. With that in mind, I would like to thank everyone at Hachette Book Group who worked on either
The Nine Lessons
or
The Paper Bag Christmas
. From the artwork, cover designs, editing, proofing, typesetting, marketing—
everything
—you’ve been amazing to work with. Your efforts have turned my dreams into reality, and I could never thank you enough.
I must give special thanks to my editor, Christina Boys. She has an amazing knack for pointing out weaknesses in my work, all the while making it sound like a compliment. Her gentle, insightful nudging has made the writing process a true joy.
Thanks to my agent, Joyce Hart, for taking a chance on a no-name, and for helping me get this far.
I would be remiss if I didn’t also mention Granite Publishing, and in particular Jeff and Joyce, for their help with the first edition of
The Paper Bag Christmas
. You got my foot in the door, for which I owe you a large debt of gratitude.
Thank you to my parents, Bob and Diana, for everything. Your encouragement has never failed. A kid couldn’t ask for better tees.
Thanks to the King City golf course for letting me test my theories… gratis!
To my sister Jenelle, I appreciate your honesty. I hope you like the finished product.
To Mikayla, Kamry, Mary, Emma, and Kyler, thank you for your love and patience. I am so proud to be your father. Every parent deserves children like you. And thanks for your special contribution to this novel, by allowing me to bring my laptop to soccer practices, basketball practices, games, ice-skating lessons, family trips,… you get the idea.
Loving thanks to my wife, Rebecca, for believing in me more than I believe in myself. Thanks for your willingness to read my drafts with a smile on your face, for your tirelessness in supporting me, and for bearing more than your share of the burden around the house when I needed to write. You are, and always will be, my very best friend.
Finally, for anyone else who was expecting to see their name here, my deepest apologies, but I trust you’ll give me a mulligan or two for the obvious mistake. In fact, take me golfing (soon) and we can settle it there. Fore!
