The Boy, The Man, and The Nine Iron
Swen Nater

“Look around and see if you find anything,” the woman softly told her 12 year old son as they entered the dimmed and musty-smelling second-hand store. They split up looking for treasure—she to the racks of clothes near the front, and he to the back, where the toys, tools, and gadgets were. Every Monday, when the new load was in, they made the trip and arrived five minutes before opening. Each time, she meticulously perused the shelves and racks for shorts, pants, shirts, socks, and even shoes, looking for things that were almost new, things that didn’t look second hand. Sometimes she found nothing. Sometimes she struck gold.

“Find anything, Hon?” she pleasantly asked, approaching the boy who was holding a golf club with both hands, looking at her with wide-open hopeful eyes and a slight smile.

“I found a golf club, Mom. Can I have it, please?” said the boy. He extended his arm, hopefully offering her a shiny nine iron that was in pretty good shape. It only had one nick on the face where someone had hit a rock or something.  

She tucked the pair of pants and blouse she found under her left arm and took the club with both hands, holding it horizontally and turning it once or twice to see if it was in good shape. “You don’t play golf, dear,” she said.

“But I want to,” he said. They walked to the front, she made the deal, and they walked out of the second-hand store, the woman with a near-new pair of pants for his brother and a colorful blouse for his sister, and the son with a nine iron.

It was summer and there was no school. The very next day, he walked four miles over a hill to a driving range someone told him about once. He had thirty cents, just enough for a small bucket of balls. At first, he sat on a bench and watched the other men swinging at the ball. Some weren’t very good but the man in the next stall was contacting the ball well every time. After a while, he stepped up on the Astroturf platform and began trying himself. Once in a while, he connected. It was fun.

But, it didn’t take long to finish the small bucket. There were only about thirty balls in it. He took his nine iron and walked out of the driving range back door, ready for his long journey home.

“Hey son,” someone said. He looked around and saw a man—the same man who was hitting balls next to him—standing at the back of his car with the trunk open. He was about to put his clubs away.

“Yes sir?” the boy said.

“Come on over here.” The boy slowly walked to the man and stood close enough to be able to see in his trunk. “You like to hit golf balls, don’t you?”

“Yes sir, I do. But I can’t hit as well as you do.”

“That doesn’t matter. All you have to do is practice. But, you also need good equipment.” Out of his trunk, he lifted complete set of brand-new shiny irons, still in the original box. Looking at the boys nine iron, he asked, “Is that the only club you have?”

The boy nodded his head. “Yes. My mom bought it for me at the second-hand store yesterday.”

“Well, if I give you these, would you promise to practice?”

“Boy, would I?” said the boy while still staring at the glittering new irons. The man gently handed the box of clubs down to the boy who received them with care and then stared at them a while, in unbelief. He thanked the man and left for home. At first he walked but, when he was out of sight, he began to skip and then sprint. 

That little boy was me. I never saw that man again, but I think about him often. To this day if a child needs something, I try to find a way to make it happen. Do you know why? Because, when I give, I know that child will have the same incredible feeling I had when that man gave me the irons. 

Next Posting: Coach Wooden—Everyone He Met Was An Equal