37 / 42
Most of all, I think of your golf
lessons.
From when
I first started
getting
serious about
the
game, our backyard served as
our family’s personal driving
range. We didn’t have much
space. It was pretty barren out
there. We didn’t have grass.
We didn’t even have any balls.
But we did have a floodlight
and my set of clubs.
Each lesson went the same
way. I’d finish my homework
and step out onto the back
deck. You’d follow me out
after
putting
down
your
police uniform, your 10-
hour shift having just ended
(or sometimes, just about to
begin). The floodlight on the
house would cast your long
shadow across the floorboards
toward
the yard,
into
the
darkness.
I would take my stance, fiddle
with my grip and wag the
club head just inches above
the deck. And then your voice
would cut through the silence.
Alright Billy Take a swing.”
This is how a son wants to
remember his father, not face
down in a ditch dying from a
self-inflicted gunshot wound.
Being a law enforcement
officer, Hurley’s father often
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