Why My Grandson Plays Golf Left-handed

When my sons were growing up, Michael Jordan was king of the world in sports. Everyone wanted to play basketball and latch on to his charisma. I tried to get my boys to try golf, and they gave it a half-hearted effort, but it was basketball all along. I tried.

Our first grandchild was born in 2000, when Jordan was still active, but his dominance was essentially over. I knew I could make a golfer if I played my cards right.

When he was three, we got the lad a golf set - a clear plastic bag with two plastic clubs with large clubheads and a plastic ball about as big as a baseball, designed for three-year-olds, that we used to play House Golf. The rules of House Golf are simple. You hit the ball at something, like a chair, and try to hit the chair. Hitting your playing partner accidentally, while not formally a part of the game, will happen unless attention is paid. You have unlimited mulligans and there is no par. Believe me, this is great fun.

There was one problem, though. He wasn't very good at it. He had his hands and arms all twisted up on the club, and his swing resembled something that I need a David Feherty quote to describe. Even hitting the ball was a triumph and that he appeared so uncoordinated that using a fork to feed himself might be dangerous didn't bother him because he was only three. He was having fun. Good enough.

It bothered me, though. No one, even a three-year-old, could be that bad at something so simple. Just swing the club a little bit and have the club hit the ball, but no go. He had to get this. The honor of the family's genetic code was at stake.

One day, the light flashed. The brilliant solution burst into my head and I knew it would work. I hadn't been paying enough attention to how he was holding the club. He was standing where a right-hander would stand, but his arms were twisted around to the other side. He was a left-hander trying to hit the ball right-handed! I went over to him, said, "Let's try something," picked him up and set him down on the left-handed side of the ball and said, "Now try it."

All of a sudden, his arms and hands were lined up and he hit the ball like he had been doing it all his life. The ball sailed cross the room. We had him hit again, and again. Same thing. I'm looking at a three-foot tall Sam Snead.

At this point you might be thinking, "Well, didn't you already know he was left-handed? Shouldn't this have been obvious?" No, it wasn't obvious, because he didn't use his left hand for anything. He picked up objects with his right hand, used his spoon (we were still shy about the fork) with his right hand, everything. And to this day he is right-handed in everything except golf. He even swung the bat in T-Ball right-handed. But golf is left-handed. Go figure.