Stroke of "Luck"

Three wondrous moments on the links that prove golf is more than a game...

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Mary Jane Macartney NORTHPORT, NEW YORK

I waited for my brother, John, to make his putt at the Sunken Meadow Golf Course in Fort Salonga, New York. We hadn't played golf together in about 40 years, not since I was a freshman at Skidmore College, upstate in Saratoga Springs, 200 miles away. One weekend, my family had come to visit and we'd spent an afternoon at the Saratoga Spa Golf Course. Mostly because my dad loved the game so much. It was the only time John and I had ever played a round with him, so I always associated Dad with that particular golf course.

I pictured Dad now, tucking that little pencil behind his ear after he'd marked up our scorecard and smiling as if nothing made him prouder than playing his favorite sport with his two kids. If only Dad could see us here today, I thought. He'd be so happy.

John finally made his putt. My gaze traveled past the ball and a few feet away to the seventeenth hole...and to the crumpled piece of paper on the otherwise pristine grounds.