Teaching the Next Generation

What is it about teaching someone something you love that makes it so satisfying? I think it speaks to something built into all of us. Whether you're an uncle, a father, a grandfather, or simply someone who's been around a little longer, there is something rewarding about passing along a skill to someone just starting out.

Golf is no different.

Teaching young golfers isn't just important for the future of the game; it teaches patience, humility, honesty, and perseverance—qualities that seem harder and harder to come by.

My nephew has recently discovered both the frustrations and the joys of golf. What started as a simple yard club for Christmas and a few afternoons hitting balls whenever I was in town has slowly turned into something much bigger. This week he plays in the Championship tournament of his junior golf league, and watching him grow has reminded me why I fell in love with the game in the first place.

He's wildly inconsistent, impulsive, and occasionally impossible to predict, which honestly sounds like most golfers I know. But the talent is there. I don't know if it's genetic or just luck, because his father, mother, and grandfather never played the game. Whatever it is, he has more natural ability than I ever did. The confidence he swings the club with at his age is something I certainly didn't have.

When I was growing up, I learned golf mostly in the backyard with my brother. Our course was a patch of grass a hundred yards from the house, and our guidance was mostly trial and error. Every now and then I'd get a little instruction, but it was never consistent. Looking back, I promised myself that if I ever had the chance, I would give my nephew—and eventually my own children—the support I wished I had, as long as they wanted it.

At first, he wasn't sure golf was for him. We'd hit balls around the yard, just like I used to, a sunburned kid with blond hair trying to figure out why one shot flew straight and the next one disappeared into the woods. Every time I came home, though, we'd find time to get him on a real golf course and let him test what he'd been teaching himself. Those were opportunities I never really had, and I wanted him to experience the game beyond the backyard.

Just Meditating...

His parents deserve just as much credit. They've taken him to lessons, brought him to Topgolf, and encouraged him every chance they've had. Little by little, he started discovering the feeling every golfer chases—that one perfectly struck shot that keeps you coming back. One good swing turns into wanting another, then another round, and before long you find yourself thinking about golf when you should probably be thinking about something else.

The clubs were bought, the lessons attended, and the rounds played. Before long, he wasn't just improving; he was winning. He's now a three-time junior tournament champion, and this week I'm flying home to caddie for him in what could be another special moment. It's a strange feeling. I'm not his father, but I'm proud of him all the same.

Living far away has made me appreciate the moments I do get to be there. My brother and I have made it our mission to show up when it matters, and his mom has become exactly the kind of encouraging sports parent every kid deserves. She knows when to offer advice, when to give a pep talk, and when to simply let him play. My brother and I... well, we're still working on that part.

I don't know what golf will ultimately become for him. Maybe he'll keep playing competitively. Maybe one day it'll just become something he enjoys with friends and family. Either way, I hope the game gives him what it has given me. Golf teaches you to slow down, to think, to stay humble, and to understand that hard work doesn't always guarantee success. Sometimes you do everything right and the ball still ends up behind a tree. That's life, and golf has a funny way of teaching those lessons without saying a word.

This week he'll step onto the first tee again. Hopefully there's another trophy waiting at the end of the day. But even if there isn't, he'll walk away with something more valuable—a little more experience, a little more confidence, and another chance to spend time with kids who are learning the same lessons we all did.

Grip the club and rip it, Buck. The rest will take care of itself.

P.S. He Won!