My Dad

When ever there is a big golf tournament on TV, I think about my dad. I’m a golf brat. My dad was a golf pro, he played par golf all his life. He would love seeing the younger guys play. He would love analyzing their swing, looking at how they putt, comparing them with the greats from his day. A good golf tournament on the TV was about the best part of the week for him.

Please leave a comment with your first 50 words on the topic “my dad.”


Author: Virginia DeBolt

Writer and teacher who writes blogs about web education, writing practice, and pop culture.

3 thoughts on “My Dad”

  1. His cuspids curl over his front teeth in a hulking vampiric motion. Every smile brings a tinge of fear to the room. My dad is a large man, he leans over your shoulders and takes heavy breaths that rattle through the air. I have always wondered if he’s seen Nosferatu.

  2. “Yoo hoo!! He is commmiiinggggg!!!!”My brother would dance a jig on the terrace , screaming his lungs out. “Where? Where?” Everyone would rush to the rooftop to get a better view, jostling with khokon(my bro). He had stationed himself there since day break, on the ashtami day(eighth day of the pooja) to look out for our missing-the -action father.
    My father , worked in the remote bustling city of Calcutta(now kolkata).Leave during” pooja” was rare. Still, thanks to our collective prayers and his persuasive abilities, he would manage a couple of days squeezed between the two most eventful days.Plus, he would bring long awaited gifts- Tintin comics, Enid blytons. clothes, chocolates and apples, mishti(sweets) from his favourite sweet shop “the chaturbhuj mishtanna bhandar”, to the backwaters of the village.
    The entire house hold would go into a frenzy of action. Way ward kids were caught, clothes changed, hair combed, and faces washed. (including the guy on the ‘watch’). Courtyard would be swept. Servants, normally visible, would recede into invisible corners. Ladies would change their saris and steaming tea and bathwater would be readied.
    As my father had to cross at least fifty slippery pathways, between rice fields(with lush green swaying crops and small fish swimming in and out of the reeds- thanks to flash floods)balancing two large duffel bags on each arm, a servant was quickly dispatched to help him in this task.This treacherous stretch also gave us ample time for the afore mentioned readiness.My father was essentially a city dweller and with his city- bred clumsiness would often stray , shoes socks and all, into the realms of rice field; creating hilarious p.g.wodehouse-ish situations.

  3. The lady in black entered the funeral parlor and walked up to Delphine standing by her father’s casket. “You’re the spittin’ image of your Dad,” she said in a low voice.
    “It’s the general consensus,” Delphine answered, trying to hold back the tears.
    “I can see why,” she replied with a sad look on her face. “He always talked about you, and even though I had never met you, until today and under these difficult circumstances, I felt I knew you through his stories.”
    “Thanks for coming to pay your last respects. I know my Dad appreciates that, wherever he is.”
    “He’s in a good place, my dear, because he was a good man.”
    “That he was. I’m really gonna miss him…” Delphine said, finally breaking down.

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