The first time I played golf with my dad, I hit him in the face with a club. (The poor guy clearly wasn’t expecting me to take an over-the-shoulder backswing with a putter.)
The first time I took my son to play golf, he spent his entire time on the range smoking lil’ drives with a lollipop stick in his mouth and sandals on his feet, looking cooler than you or I ever will.
Parents and children bond on the golf course in mysterious (and occasionally painful) ways, whether you’re out on a putt-putt carpet or you’re Tiger Woods walking Augusta National with your son.