CHAPTER 1My Dad's the Pro
I had driven the ball into the trees. This was not uncommon for me. My father used to say, "The woods are full of long hitters," so Dad always knew where to find me. Someday, he promised, he would teach me to be a straight hitter, too. But at this moment we were looking for my ball among the tall pines of coastal Georgia, on a golf course owned by the Cloister Hotel at Sea Island, where my father was a teacher of golf -- and some other things, too. I was a guinea pig for a lot of his ideas, his best pupil in some ways, his worst in others.
We found the ball and I surveyed the shot and...