Scott Rabalais: Remembering my dad during a return to Amen Corner and Masters week

I told them about me and my dad’s year here. I could tell was no question they understood what I wanted to say. Cherish the moments. You don’t know how many you get.

My father was an excellent high school athlete, much better than me, a glorious backup on Baton Rouge High’s 1983 state championship golf team. He excelled at track and field and was a great basketball player — so he told me. My father was also a practical man who wanted what he wanted.

Like a lot of your families, I’m sure, we spent a lot of vacations in Gulf Shores, Alabama. Trips that usually included a round or two at the Gulf State Park course, sadly now also long gone.

One time, dad and I went to the golf course to play 18. We got over there, but for some reason we had to leave early. So we marched into the pro shop and dad asked the clerk for a refund.

Sorry sir, the clerk said, we only give rainchecks. No refunds. How do I know when I’ll be back, dad asked the man, to use the raincheck? At this point I could have spoken up to say we were a virtual lock to be back the next summer, but I was too busy thinking of how to dig a hole in the floor so I could hide from my embarrassment.

This went back and forth for a while until dad asked the man, “Do you have a calendar?” Yes, was the clerk’s puzzled reply. “Well, mark it on your calendar,” dad said, “Today’s the day you’re going to give me a refund.”

The guy eventually called state park headquarters in Montgomery or something. We could have played at least nine in the time we waited. Finally, the guy held out the phone for dad and said, with as much sarcasm as he could bring to bear, “Excuse me … friend … they want to speak to you.”

Dad got his refund. And for our family got an all-time inside joke.

I wish I could have one more round with my dad. Or have him here with me this week. Is it possible to make it through life without regrets when it comes to our loved ones? I think not.