Rickie Fowler, Eat Your Heart Out
My sister, Libby, wrote this post. You may remember her wedding, which was featured in a three-part blog. Enjoy! -Sarah
During a couple of summers growing up, my sister and I took golf lessons with some of our family friends. Unexpected? Maybe. Thoroughly enjoyable? Definitely. What resulted was not improved golf skills, but a few other things my parents probably did not anticipate when they signed us up. First off, instead of learning more about the game of golf, we decided to focus our energies on fitting into the “cultured” lifestyle of people you would find at a golf course. We tied sweaters around our shoulders like we had seen on Gap mannequins at the mall. We also decided we just simply couldn’t call colors by their more “common” names, like blue or green. These were now “ocean” and “avocado”. Why call something white when you can call it ecru? Much more fun.*
The other thing that came about during these golf lessons was the most thrilling golf-cart ride of my life. My sister is certainly brave, but I am considered the adventurous one of the family. We were each supposed to have a turn driving the cart. My sister went first, and was very cautious. Some might say too cautious.** So I decided to liven things up a bit. I reached over with my foot and pushed my sister’s foot down hard on the gas.*** It was all my sister could do to keep the cart going in a straight line after we jolted forward. I will add at this moment that our golf instructor was in the the golf cart with us, holding on for dear life. Once Sarah finally regained control of the golf cart, we skidded to a halt to narrowly miss crashing into a nearby garbage can. Needless to say, I was not allowed to take my turn driving. But my sister was there to help diminish the situation to our parents when they asked how our lesson was that day and were met with the response, “Intense!” from our instructor. ♣
I like this story because it illustrates how my sister has been there for some of my best times. At a recent gathering where I was in the spotlight, I wanted her next to me to keep me calm. Our adventures have matured since our days of wreckless endangerment with a golf cart, but when I need someone to balance my crazy side, she’s always there.
*I decided that I want to become the person that names colors for catalogues. I still consider this my backup career. Incidentally, I was looking through a magazine the other day and found out oxblood is the color of the season this fall. Why on earth is there a color named oxblood? When you really think about it, it’s creepy. Like…mustaches at a roller rink creepy. I could come up with something much better. Give me some time, and I’ll think of something.
**There is a picture of each of us on an alpine slide in Jackson Hole, WY. My brother is so blurry, you can barely recognize that it’s him. I am slightly less blurry. My sister looks as though she had stopped to take the picture. She did come by her cautious nature honestly, though. You may remember from Sarah’s introduction to our dad’s guest blog that he coined the phrase, “That’s a loaded gun” to describe any situation that may be deemed unsafe. He uses it often enough that things like a glass of water on the edge of a table are portrayed in this light.
***My dad would definitely consider this a loaded gun.
♣It’s funny how siblings remember things differently. I’ve told the golf cart story many times, to illustrate how different Libby and I are, but I remember her taking us on a wild ride in the golf cart on the way down to the course, which is why I drove on the return trip. And I had completely forgotten about our attention to fashion at that time, or the pictures from Jackson Hole. Memory. It’s a funny thing.