A Mother’s Day Salute

My mom, little sister and I stepped out of an old GMC van in a busy restaurant parking lot in Orlando in the early morning darkness of Thanksgiving week. We had left Washington, D.C., where we had stayed with a family member about 13 hours earlier, and we were tired and hungry. As we huddled, staggering toward the welcoming glow of an IHOP, we saw two men squaring off in front of a small crowd close to the entrance. They bounced around for a few beats before the larger man took a vicious swing that connected squarely, spinning the other man around. Projectiles flew from the recipient’s mouth – most likely teeth – and the three of us scrambled back to the safety of the van as yelling echoed across the parking lot. 

I was a high school sophomore, and I had been invited to an AJGA tournament at the Walt Disney World courses. My sister, a middle-schooler, tagged along with the promise of a visit to the Magic Kingdom. I don’t remember any of the rides we went on, but I do remember the sound of that parking-lot punch: teeth surfing on a wave of saliva, tumbling to the asphalt. Our first hour in Orlando would be anything but magical. 

My mom was often tasked with getting me to important tournaments in front of college coaches, and doing it with very little money. She was a single mom and an English teacher who didn’t play golf, but the game became part of her life. Mom’s Chrysler LeBaron wasn’t reliable enough to get us from New Hampshire to out-of-state tournaments, so we would pass the hat around among generous family and friends, borrow my grandmother’s monstrous russet van, and set off to Massachusetts, Rhode Island, Connecticut, North Carolina, and in this case, Florida. Mom saved to upgrade the LeBaron but gave that money to me for important tournaments, so the borrowed van became our chariot. She sang in a choral society throughout my childhood and loved music. The van would be filled with the songs of Tom Petty, Fleetwood Mac, The Band, Michael Jackson and Pink Floyd, along with classical music and various NPR shows. We never missed Car Talk, and thankfully, never had to call in for a diagnosis. 

The van was comfortable and had the advantage of being spacious enough to sleep in if needed. Mom figured out all the tournament logistics and drove that brown beast through formidable traffic and construction. While I thought overcoming my on-course nerves was the challenge on such trips, it paled in comparison to what she was dealing with. She would bring along her students’ tests and essays and stay up late at night, grading papers and suggesting edits. 

On this Disney trip, Mom drove us into a fist fight and now had to worry about keeping her kids safe. I believe we drove straight to a hotel, and upon seeing my weary mom’s teary eyes, the desk clerk showed us to our room, check-in time be damned. 

This tournament was two rounds of medal play, with a cut followed by a couple days of match play. The wind howled across the Palm and Magnolia courses, and Mom found it difficult to watch – both because my sister had little interest in golf and because I was overly intense when I played. “Your shoulders were tense all day, Markie,” Mom would say. “It didn’t look like you were having any fun. Deep breaths tomorrow.” 

A bad score on the 36th hole hit me harder than the puncher in the IHOP parking lot. I missed the cut by a shot or two and sulked in the van afterward.

Mom had to play psychologist and convince me everything was going to be OK – that we didn’t really waste money we didn’t have. It wasn’t an easy sell and the ride back to New Hampshire seemed never-ending. “There are other tournaments…You’re just getting started…We’ll keep moving forward,” Mom would say. 

Mom knew more than she should have about resilience. She had become an expert in putting on a brave face, making peace with disappointment, and moving forward in her own life. My sister and I learned what Jagger sang through experience: You can’t always get what you want, but if you try sometimes, you’ll find, you get what you need. 

It must have been tiring, but Mom still talks about our trips with great love and a sense of nostalgia. She would never allow herself to be disappointed when she was with her kids. I was incredibly lucky, and ultimately, our trips paid off. Future car rides were filled with triumph and celebration. But even if I had never received a scholarship to Notre Dame, or had never played college golf, she would have relished those trips. 

I am grateful for those experiences. Without them, my life would be very different. They paved the way to a scholarship, sure, but more importantly, they brought Mom and me together. Mom became interested in my interests – not the other way around –  and became my most important ally and coach. She couldn’t help with my golf swing or improve my putting stroke, but she believed in and encouraged me, and her support never wavered. “Deep breaths…relax your shoulders…and have fun,” she’d say. 

Mom was curious and always asking questions of junior golf organizers and other parents. When I was struggling with something in the game she couldn’t help with, she encouraged me to call the contacts she had made. She also had to bite her tongue with some insufferable junior golf parents – you know the ones I’m talking about. 

I learned to appreciate every experience because of her sacrifices. She devoted her precious spare time and money so I could have the opportunity to succeed. Later, she was the first person I would call after a round, regardless of the score.

When Notre Dame played in an NCAA regional at Lake Nona during my senior year, Mom and my sister returned to Orlando with my stepdad to watch me play in my final college tournament. They didn’t have to drive the van this time. It was the first college tournament Mom was able to attend. Our team didn’t have much success, but Mom was proud. Years before, we were practically living in my grandmother’s van during tournament weekends, trying not to bounce checks, and dodging broken teeth in parking lots so I could play competitively. We had made it to one of the grandest clubs in Florida at the highest level of college golf. The sun had never felt so satisfying, and the experience was shared.

To all the generous moms out there doing all they can and encouraging their kids: Happy Mother’s Day! 

To my mom: Thank you for being exactly what my sister and I need – continuing to do all you can to be the best mother you can be. 

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