I dragged myself out of bed before sunrise this fine Saturday morning to play a solo round of disc golf at El Dorado Park in Long Beach. I played like hell. I did not hit a single shot. By now, I’ve come to accept my bad games. When I play poorly, I like to sit on a bench after the game for ten minutes and replay the round mentally. It helps me understand the nature of my failure. Unfortunately, it looks like I’m praying.
This morning I was interrupted during my review by a wizened old black man standing a few yards away. He said, “Excuse me son. I see that you are talking to God. Do you mind if I join?”
Many thoughts passed through my mind in the brief moment before I responded. Most of them were unkind. It was almost like watching the possible responses from inside the Terminator’s head. I chose something nice. "I’m sorry, I am not praying. I’m not the praying type. You are welcome to join me on the bench.”
He smiled and sat down. We spoke about the weather. He talked about his long dead wife. He told me about his grandkids. He might of been a Christian. I don’t really know because it did not come up again. Fe was lonely, but less so after our time together. Herb is now a friend, although I don’t expect to see him show up on Facebook. He walks the park every morning. I plan to bring the coffee tomorrow.