Addressing the Ball
My father and I just returned from a week of intense golf. My fingers are cramped into an open face grip, the crushed bones in my pinky and ring finger are coated with hardened blisters, and the blazing sun left a scorching outline of a polo shirt and golf shorts onto my body. Though my father's dream of his daughter becoming a pro golfer will probably never actualize, I have lasting images of perfect greens and brilliant blues.
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