Derek loves to golf.
These two statements- seemingly unrelated- pretty much sum up the past week, and have become inextricably linked in my mind.
Wednesday, October 5th: Our friendly mailman knocks on the door, bearing a tall, thin box. This box contains a set of child-size golfclubs; a birthday present from Atticus's grandparents. The box sits in the corner of the front room for one night.
Thursday, October 6th: Having left them alone for a full 24 hours, Derek can bear it no longer: he opens the box. When I ask him what he's doing, his excuse is that he wants the golf bag, clubs, glove, etc to be ready for play as soon as our son opens the box.
Friday, October 7th: Atticus, as usual, begs Derek to play golf as soon as he walks in the door. We hold him off until after supper, when we all adjourn to the backyard, Derek with a real club and golf balls, Atticus with one of his plastic clubs and practice balls.
Saturday morning, October 8th: Although it is not yet his birthday, Derek suggests we go ahead and let Atticus open one of his presents. I firmly respond that it is not, in fact, his birthday yet, and we should wait until tomorrow.
Saturday late afternoon, October 8th: After the third or fourth time of hearing Derek hint that we should really let Atticus open this particular gift today, I relent. I'm not sure who is more excited, Derek or his (still two-year-old) son. Scratch that: I do know who is more excited. His name starts with a D and ends with an -erek.
Atticus opens the box. Once he finally figures out that these clubs are for him, not Daddy, he cries, "Cool!" and starts testing his new gift.
Sunday afternoon, October 9th: The birthday boy goes golfing for the first time with Daddy and Papa (that would be Derek's Dad). He's incredibly excited, and has talked about little else for the past day or so.
Sunday evening, October 9th: The golfing trio return home. All are still in good spirits; the trip was a success. Derek tells me Atticus had a great time, although on the first couple holes, when Derek would climb into the golf cart, Atticus would immediately drop his club and ball and dash for the cart, afraid of being left behind. He eventually got the hang of things.
When I asked our three-year-old boy how it went, he said, "I wike to golf." He also told me he got chocolate milk.
He has asked to go back to the golf course with Daddy no less than six times a day, every day since.
I'm afraid we've created a scary golf monster. Derek couldn't be more pleased.