One of my favorite memories of my father features a runaway golf cart.
One evening, I tagged along and was given a chance to drive the cart. I was 11 or 12 years old and you can imagine how giddy I felt.
Dad played in a golf league once a week after work in the spring and summer.
At one of the first few holes, Dad hopped out of the cart, selected his club, and walked to the tee to prepare for his shot.
As he waited for one of his playing partners to tee off, Dad looked back and waved me up to join the group and to get a better view.
I hopped out and scurried up the hill to the tee.
Then, as if living in some slow motion cartoon of my childhood, I saw the horrified look on my dad‘s face.
But he wasn’t looking at me, he was looking at something in the distance.
I spun around to see our cart rollicking and rolling down the path.
I remember a voice from behind me, probably one of his friends, saying, “Uh oh, I don’t think the kid put on the parking brake.”
No, the kid did not.
I raced after it, first trying to grab it from the front, and then from the side.
The problem?
I was a tween with the upper body strength of a Twizzler and scrawny hands coated in Fun Dip.
Obviously, I was unsuccessful at anything besides being dragged along. That I did quite well, thank you very much.
(You’re wondering why I didn’t just jump on the seat and apply the brake. This same question still haunts me.)
The cart eventually plowed into some landscaping timbers and nearly toppled over, just about the time my dad and several other golfers caught up.
I so clearly remember my dad asking what in the world I was thinking.
“I thought I could stop it,” I said sheepishly.
I’ve pondered this experience many times through the years.
Why did I believe I possessed the power to stop a runaway golf cart?
Because I truly believed my dad thought I could.
In that brief moment, without taking time to weigh the risks or realities, I thought I was capable of anything!
I grew up in a family where despite our many weaknesses, we were reminded over and over and over again that we were capable of doing remarkable things.
My father, who surely wasn’t flawless, believed so much in me and my siblings, that in that moment of truth, I simply assumed that despite the evidence, if Dad thought I could do it, I could.
And that is one of the many miracles of fatherhood.
To my dad and all the others out there celebrating their day, I hope you’ll keep believing that your kids — no matter their age — are capable of doing great things in the world.
Like stopping a runaway golf cart.
(Fun dip optional.)
Happy Father’s Day.
