Writer Spotlight: Regan Russell
“Reminders From Home”
We made the trek up to the magical green machine in the pouring rain. This was always my favorite part of the day, no matter what the weather. After playing as many holes as my father and I physically could, the balls we had found along the way needed a good cleaning. Walking hand in hand with golf bags slung on our shoulders, I was never tired. The bright green cleaning machine was located behind the tee box on hole number one. Lucky for us, nobody was teeing off when we got up there.
We’d empty the bags on the grass and pick out the ones that were worth keeping; the bright pink golf balls. The plain ones could stay in the grass. Eventually, someone else would decide they were worth keeping for themselves. He would pick up a pink one and load it onto the top of the machine; I wasn’t tall enough to reach the top of the machine. One by one my father would load them into the machine, I would crank the handle as fast as I could, trying to impress my father with how fast I could clean them. One by one they would come out looking fresh and brand new. We would split them between the two of us most days, each taking half of our bounty. But some days he would let me take all of them, those were the best days.
Once the clean golf balls were in my golf bag, we made the journey back to the car. I didn’t want to go back inside; it meant all the fun was over. My day with having dad all to myself over, but we had these days frequently enough that I knew it would be okay. Being the youngest in the family with two older sisters, my dad had a soft spot for me. While my sisters did whatever highschoolers did, I got to have dad all to myself. But we all played together once we got home.
After my sister’s golf club collided with the garage window, we were no longer allowed to practice in the backyard. We had all been in the backyard hitting balls, trying to get them to land on the trampoline. None of us ever figured out if it was accidental or on purpose. But one minute she was holding the golf club in her hand, and the next minute it was playing through the back window. My mother claimed she made the rule so we wouldn’t have to buy another window, but really, I think she was sick of finding golf balls rolling under her car the next morning.
My mother was not a golfer. She didn’t grow up playing any sports and she said she wasn’t going to start now. She did play an occasional tournament with us, when our church hosted one as a fundraiser. I wondered if she felt left out, if we all shared a bond that she wished she did too. I never got around to asking.
The trampoline was filled to the brim with bright pink dots, and the forest trail was littered with them. The goal was to not get into the woods, but we were practicing for a reason. When our supply diminished, we would be forced to collect them ourselves. My two sisters and I would walk through the trails with buckets in our hands picking up every golf ball. I also had to get the ones in hard-to-reach places. My sisters claimed, “You’re the only one small enough to reach them”, but I knew they just didn’t want to do it themselves. Eventually, over time the trampoline became empty, and the forest trail was brown and green. The only one left in the backyard was me. My sisters had “better things to do” as they called it. I wanted to ask why everything had changed, how I could go back, and if things would ever be fun again. My questions were answered by doors slamming in my face, and soon I decided I had no questions left.
Once I began high school my dad and I didn’t really have time to go on our little solo adventures to the golf course. Every now and then we’d make time to play a couple of holes but nothing like we used to. At least we still cleaned up the pink golf balls.
I watched my sisters play dress-up in their black coats and silly hats. They got their fancy pieces of paper saying “Congrats! You finished high school, now figure out the rest of your life.” I didn’t realize what these clothes meant until it was my turn to wear them. It meant saying goodbye. No more backyard practices, rules broken behind mom's back, days turned into nights in the blink of an eye, blisters on our hands, grass drug into the house, and no more throwing away all the white golf balls. These things had been gone before; I didn’t realize now they were gone forever.
As summer went on my belongings slowly disappeared. Packed away into blue bags, to be put into my backseat. When the trees began to lose their vibrance, it was time for me to go. My mirrors reflected a sea of blue, but my cup holder held a bright pink spot. Now when I take turns too fast and the pink ball rolls over on itself, I’m reminded.