Chapter 19
JonahMy father’s invitation to the driving range on Sunday was the first shot of war. I hated golf as much as Dad loved it. He knew that, and he knew that I knew it.
For some reason, he thought golf the perfect setting to deliver bad news. My parents came close to divorce the summer before I started high school. Dad told me between strokes on the sixteenth hole. When my grandfather got cancer, he informed me on the ninth tee box at Pebble Beach.
Perhaps that’s why, despite our regular outings, I hated golf. It was often the harbinger of trouble.
After arriving at the course, the pair of us hit balls for about thirty minutes. A natural competition sprang up between us. I had youth on my side, but Dad played golf two or three days a week.
I planted my feet and lined up anothe
