Greetings. I’m a father now. More on that later.
I’m very happy to be back. Let’s dive in.
GHIN
As I write this, I’m in the midst of a seven-match losing streak against my friend A.J. It’s brutal. His course, my course, neutral sites. It doesn’t matter.
I’m including this for a few reasons: First, because he’s worked hard, improved his game and played some very nice golf and he deserves his due. But also because it’s helped me realize something important that I’ve become very thankful for.
A.J. and I became friends a few years ago when I moved to Milwaukee and we were thrilled to learn that both of us were 6-handicaps. This, of course, meant that we could play matches straight up, without strokes. “Real golf,” as Randy, Neil and PacMan Jones would say.
Our first two matches were both dead ties, with each of us sinking big putts at the final hole to even up the day. Even our third match was tied when we got to the 18th hole. I finally got him, 1 up, which I only include because it was the first and last time I beat him since we started keeping a spreadsheet of match results.
Part of what makes golf great is that the handicap system allows people of all skill levels to (theoretically) play an evenly matched, competitive game against each other. That system works great. But as someone who is typically on the receiving end of strokes from the people I play with, I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t something just a bit hollow about “winning” a match when the other guy clearly and objectively played better golf. (Hopefully, Soly isn’t reading this, because our matches are exempt from this feeling.)
What’s most fun about finding an equal sparring partner like this is that even as your handicaps drift apart, as they often naturally do, both of you know that you’ll always see each other as the players from those first matches. And the thought of giving or receiving pops will repulse both sides forever.
When Tron first moved to Florida, we played dozens of matches straight up and had back-and-forth slugfests. His game has since taken a leap that I can’t keep up with. He’s clearly a better player than me, but every time he’s forced to give me two a side, we both feel a little grimy because we know how much more fun it is to be on a level playing field. If you have a golf friend like this, I hope you appreciate how great of an asset those even matches are.
My practice has plummeted this fall and A.J. has gotten consistently better. Realistically, our handicaps are no longer the same and the fine people at the USGA would be pulling their hair out watching us continue to play straight up. But each time I get beat, the itch to get back out and play again gets even stronger. And when the streak finally ends, it’s going to feel so much better than any 5-for-4 ever has.
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TONIC
My wife Justine and I welcomed our first kid back in September, a little boy named Charlie. He rules (or at least he seems to – he doesn’t say very much). We are over the moon and enjoying every minute of it.
Since Charlie was born, I’ve gotten countless messages from people who are about to become parents themselves. Here are a few stray notes and thoughts from the past two months for them to take or leave (and for experienced parents to hopefully get a laugh at):
• The most important takeaway of the earliest days was simply to stay ahead. You can’t get behind in the count because you have no chance to hit a 2-strike cutter. You have to anticipate, plan your next move and maximize your time, which is something I’ve never been very good at. If you have five minutes to do the dishes, those are the five minutes to do them. If you’re getting ready to give him a bottle, think of everything you might need within arm's length over the next 30 minutes. The last thing you want to do is realize you left his pacifier downstairs when the shit hits the fan (or your arm).
• The weather over the first month was a joke in Milwaukee. Mid-60s, leaves changing, cool breezes off the lake. As a result, Justine and I both quickly realized that long walks served the multiple purposes of:
a) Getting out of the house and feeling like a human being
b) Getting some much-needed exercise
c) Giving the other person a quiet house for an hour or so
I would almost always opt for the baby carrier over the stroller on these, which I love. Sometimes we would just walk to the coffee shop, sit outside on benches and watch people go by. The best.
• Of course all the cliches are true and spectacular: The awe you will have every day for your partner, the fact that there are varieties of patience you didn’t even know existed, etc.
But if I’m being honest, a lot of the first few weeks can feel more like feeding a sourdough starter than what you’ve always pictured as “parenting.” It’s pretty procedural and impersonal, particularly without all the built-in physiological connections that a mother has with the newborn.
But, man. When you get a few weeks in and he starts squeaking and smirking and making funny faces…
• It’s maddening how often you have no idea what to do and end up hearing “it depends” or “do what’s right for you!” All you want when your brain turns to sleep-deprived mush is for someone to tell you exactly what to do. That’s not going to happen. I suppose it’s probably for good reason.
• I only read a few books before Charlie arrived: “Bringing up Bebe,” which came highly recommended by Tron and a few others. And “Moms on Call,” which is much more of a how-to reference manual than a parenting philosophy. Both were great in their own way, but reading them before the baby came probably did very little for me. I’m re-reading parts of them now that I’m 2 months in and, unsurprisingly, it feels like I can finally translate the language they’re written in.
• On that note, give some serious consideration to the consequences of Googling things because it’s impossible to unread what you’ll see. I’ve never been a huge Reddit guy, but honestly, a lot of the parenting and newborn threads are incredibly helpful, calm and rational, and do a great job of putting any worries into comforting perspective and plain English. That’s become my go-to instead of wading through the “technically it could be the worst disease you’ve ever heard of” answers on most medical websites.
• Charlie was in the NICU for five days after he was born. Thankfully, it was for some very mild breathing concerns that kept our nerves to a minimum. Every day, we would get up, go to the hospital, and spend all day hanging out in his room and peppering his nurses with every question we could think of about how to take care of a newborn. I never would have chosen for him to have to spend time in there, but in reality, having those training wheel days where the pros could show us how and why they did the things they did made me so much more confident when it was time to actually go home.
Without fail, every single person we met in the NICU – from the doctors and nurses to the assistants and cleaning staff – was a compassionate, thoughtful pro that put us at ease with well-timed insights, empathy and humor. I can’t fathom what it would take to do that job every single day, let alone for the decades that many had been there doing it. I’m sincerely grateful and thankful those types of people exist and will remember that group forever.
When he was dealing with some jaundice a few days in and needed to sit under those blue bilirubin lights, I made a quip to the nurse about how she should draw eyes on the masks to add some personality. I laughed so hard when we came in the next day.
• I’m naturally a night person, so I gravitated toward the graveyard shift, handling overnight feedings. Luckily the playoff baseball was electric (apart from one inning of a certain Game 3). Outside of that, I watched a few Apple+ shows: All of “Slow Horses,” which I can’t recommend enough. I also got all the way through “Shrinking,” which is kind of like “if they let the people on Scrubs say the F-word.” I like it. It’s a fun late-night delirious watch and Harrison Ford is a treat.
Now that baseball is over, we’re rounding into full-on Oscars prep and it’s movie season. Watch this space for more updates.
• I pretty vividly remember the low point of those first few weeks. It was between 3 and 4 a.m. and Charlie and I were downstairs. He hadn’t been a huge crier so far, but he was in a full meltdown. I was trying every trick I had ever read – shushing, burping, changing, football cradling, swaying, rocking, bouncing, walking, swaddling and unswaddling. He had zero interest in any of it.
I knew he didn’t need a new diaper, but I gave him a full outfit change anyway, just to see if anything would click and make him stop. Pacifier? F*** off. Bouncy chair? Go to hell.Now things were moving quickly and the first uneasy waves of panic started to waft in. Surely the cries would wake up Justine during the few hours of precious sleep I was supposed to be giving her. And worse than that, I thought, maybe every night would just be like this. Forever. Me reduced to a pleading puddle, begging for answers from a little 8-pound time bomb who was so frustrated that he couldn’t give them to me. I used to do fun stuff, and now it’s just going to be this.
Suddenly the crying stopped and the room finally fell silent again. I rewound the previous seconds, trying to figure out what secret combination of moves had cracked the code. We were near the window in our dark living room, but the streetlights were throwing enough light for me to see that he had locked eyes with me, something he had only done a few times since we brought him home. The panic was gone and in its place was one of our first moments of what felt like actual bonding or connection. I slowly brought him a little closer to my face to allow us both to get a better look.
Then he vomited all over me and his brand-new set of pajamas. I paused, looked upward to the ceiling and took a deep breath. I looked back down at him and we both tried to figure out what to do next. I took another beat. Then he let out what has to be pound-for-pound the loudest fart in the history of Wisconsin. I was awestruck. After that, he took a deep breath and let out a big, satisfied exhale, turned his head slightly and fell asleep. I laughed for a half hour.
• • •
Thanks for reading. You can reach D.J. at dj@nolayingup.com
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