Personal Narrative: Live The Game Like It Is Your Last

Live the Game like it is your Last
If it was not for my grandpa, I would have never thought about golfing. Golfing was his passion. He would play the game with his friends everyday, rain or shine. This man was an inspiration to me. Every time I would go over to my grandparent’s house, my grandpa would let Jordan, his neighbor, and I drive an old crummy golf cart with seats that looked like you were going to sit on a polar bear. Eventually, Jordan would have to return home, and my grandpa would summon me over to a chipped painted building with a bag of golf clubs and a tub of balls. He would ask me to show him my Arnold Palmer swing.
Grandpa was a tall broad-shouldered man. He was also quiet and thought of his words before saying anything.

Hiding his emotions, you never knew when he was sad or in pain. This man was always thinking of the positive outcome and wanted the best for his grandkids.
I started setting up the tee looking into the bright pink and orange horizon with the smell of the pond to my left and listening to the bullfrogs with their cold like croak. Looking for the perfect spot to aim this dusty old ball, I wanted to impress my grandpa. This man shadowed me, made sure I remembered how to stand and swing. I can still hear his soft voice, trying to be short and sweet.
I took the rusty old golf club and swung. I missed the ball. My grandpa told me to shake it off and try again. Teeing up my ball, I took the club back and swung. The ball went across the yard and over the road to Jordan’s house. Grandpa could not believe it. Flinging his hands up in the air like a bamboo, and told me beginners luck. His eyes were determined to distinguish it again. Without saying a word, he teed up another ball. Yet again, over the road, into Jordan’s yard. We kept going.
I did not want him to see my exhaustion, but my swing was showing it. A few balls started going into the pond and some went near the two story house to my right. With frustration, I finally stopped and told my grandpa to show me how it is done.
He laughed and said, “Someday, I’ll show you.” He saw the sadness in my eyes. He told me not to sweat it and take a deep breath. Try again.
I hit one more golf ball, and of course it went over the road. At the moment I was thrilled, but in the end, I never did get to see him swing a golf club.
Few years later, my grandpa died of cancer. The last words he said to me was live the game like it is your last. Every time I step onto the perfectly mowed grass, I think of my grandpa, and I will have to wait until I get to play that golf game with him. I have a few of his golf equipment in my golf bag, and in my room hanging on a wall, is his putter. I will always have a consistent reminder of this man. When I am having a lousy day I imagine those words, live the game like it is your last. Grandpa was not just talking about golf, he was talking about life in general. Everyone’s life is a game, and you need to make the most out of it because who knows when it is your last.