On the 18th hole of a round of mini-golf (or putt-putt as we call it here in the south, ya'll) you typically putt the ball in the hole, and down the shoot it goes...into the collection bin.
(or into the ocean, as I thought as a child)
Except this time, I didn't play the 18th hole, because I needed to keep this ball.
I always go for the green one: it matches my eyes :0) This particular golf ball will be placed in a hall-of-fame shadow box in the Jeans household. For this golf ball was placed on the green of the 17th hole and rolled
ever so effortlessly into the hole.
More details must be added to this story. And if you don't believe in karma, I hope you will after I tell you this.
(I have 7 witnesses to back me up)
The O-man was getting a bit fussy, so I picked him up out of the stroller as we rounded the corner to the 17th hole. I also picked him up, anticipating what was really waiting for me.
The ghosts of July 2008.
On the 17th hole, I started bleeding. This is where I thought I had lost the O-man. The night was spent in the ER, where we discovered that he was in there, but so was a very large hematoma.
So as I held the O-man in my right arm, I placed the ball on the green, made my putt with my left hand (I am right handed) and watched as I got a hole in one on the hardest hole on the whole course. As you can imagine, I started to cry--and with happy tears, I celebrated with those 7 witnesses--who were all with me last year, as well.
As well as the important 8th member of the group...
who was also with me last year, even in my darkest moment.
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