The Great Gamble
Naturally, I want to start at the beginning. But when I try to explain my origin in the game, I’m often flooded by thoughts and feelings. When I was young, starting from the age of about 8 or 9, I often told my history factually — in sequence. It made sense to me…they were simply facts after all. But the face of the person receiving my response eventually told me that these facts were out of the norm. The fact is, my father was diagnosed with stage 4 lung cancer when I was about 4 or 5 — before I started golf. With only a few years to live, as he was told by doctors, he needed to ensure that his children could fend for themselves when he was gone. His rationale was simple: golf scholarships were plentiful in the U.S. He had done some research and found this to be the case. He also enjoyed the game and was about a bogey player without playing or practicing all that much. How hard could it be? It would take him about 10 years or so to find out. Eventually all three of us: myself, my twin sister, and my older brother, all held the no. 1 spot in the national junior rankings in the U.S. We all received athletic scholarships to Division I colleges in America. But it wouldn’t be as easy as he thought. But then again, three children excelling in the same sport is pretty unusual, and rare.
Nowadays, I’ll give another answer to my origin story, which is also true. My dad told my sister and I to pick a sport that we liked, with the expectation that we were going to learn it well, and together. We had to pick the same sport because of logistics — it was easier to have the twins doing the same activity. Plus, it’s eye catching to have identical twins doing the same things. I liked swimming — the water was nice and cool. It was way too hot in Thailand to be outside, especially during the summertime. The poolside crinkle-cut french fries dipped in Heinz ketchup was pretty amazing too. But my sister liked golf better.
One day we decided to settle it at the local driving range with a little competition. If I threw a golf ball further than her 7 iron goes, I could pick the sport. Such good odds for me! It was our second time practicing golf ever — how far could she possibly hit it with a miniature muscle back 7 iron? I’m always quite nervous and excited before any competition, and this was no different. I picked up the shiniest golf ball from the bucket and took a step back. I cranked my arm well behind my head, and stepped forward as I propelled my fist towards a 100 yard sign in the distance. BOOM. Crash…bounce, bounce, bounce. The big crashing noise and the sound of a golf ball ricocheting off concrete startled me. What happened? I must have early released it — not good for golf, or throwing apparently. My sister hit a beautiful 7 iron that carried 80 yards or so. Our golf training has begun.
