Thanks Dad, But Now I Have To Pay For Golf

During a cloudy November day in 2001, a pair of Minnesota golfers snapped the picture that graces every corner of my home, my dad resting on one knee in front of my mom, on hole fifteen of the Torrey Pines North Course. After seven years of dating, my dad popped the question, earning a smile, a yes, and three double-bogeys on his scorecard. I say his luck ended on that tee box.

I tell many people that whether I was a girl or a boy, my dad planned on raising me the same way. Teaching me to mow the lawn, build a fire, change my oil, and, of course, learning the ropes of the greatest game ever played.

While Torrey Pines shares an important relationship milestone with my parents, it gave my family something else — a name for my birth certificate.  

When I tell a stranger my namesake is a golf course, it’s without a second thought they ask me how long I’ve been playing, but it wasn’t so simple. 

My parents and I on the fifteenth tee box of Torrey Pines, eight years after my dad popped the question.

After years of pleading to get me on the course, my dad had to play the waiting game: Waiting for me to get sick and tired of playing basketball, or the 10 years of swimming, plus two more of club volleyball. 

His wish came true in my seventh-grade year, when I finally caved. With no middle school golf team available, the fundamentals of golf were taught to me by my father. With a close proximity to our home golf course, we would hop in our golf cart, drive down the beach road, and cross the dike to emerge on hole number six at Useless Bay Golf & Country Club. While the name is an unfortunate choice, the course rests on a beautiful bay in Washington's Puget Sound, providing a pathway for cruise and cargo ships making their way north.

I was not familiar with junior tournaments, the way my dad introduced me to the golf game was slow. We spent summer evenings on the course, preparing me for high school and the competitive golf world. 

When it came time for my applications, the ability to play golf in college wasn’t even in my top three priorities when looking at a future school. I toured dozens of liberal arts schools in Oregon, close enough to my parents for a drive but far enough for some sense of freedom. 

But I happened upon a school that had it all: Study abroad, small classes, my majors, and a wonderful athletic program to allow me to continue my favorite thing.

I’m not sure how convinced my dad was that I would play in college, but it's easy to say he was happy with my choice. I made strides throughout my career that I never thought possible. Holding a spot at the top of my team throughout my time at Linfield University was something freshman-aged Tori never saw coming. 

At the start of each season, I wrote my season-long goals on a sticky note and handed them to my coach. Some were academic, earning honors or getting an A in a difficult class. Others were mental, keeping my cool on the golf course and recovering well after a bad hole. 

But at the start of my time in college, I had two thoughts in the back of my mind. In my small collegiate conference are the 2023 DIII national champions, and while I knew beating their top player was more of a miracle, I set a goal to beat someone on their team during a tournament. That happened my sophomore year, with a comfortably played round for me earning something I didn’t even know I wanted. 

In our simulator and practice room, a whiteboard hung above our couch and tables, with our men’s and women’s season and career-long records projected to the whole room. At the start of my senior year, the first goal I wrote on my sticky note was to have my name up on that whiteboard. 

Now, a graduated collegiate athlete, I have accomplished both, with my name on those lists four separate times, career and season-long.  

But my strongest memory from college is from my last day as a college athlete. My spring championship was at my home course, and I had posted a solid round the first day, positive I could lower my score the next, taking advantage of the greens I knew so well. I put on a clinic in my first nine holes on day 2, with a stupid double bogey, a near eagle hole-out, and a few scattered birdies in between.

The last round of my last collegiate tournament, at my home course.

No matter where my tee shots or approaches ended up that day, I was making birdies and pars like I never had before. Maybe a miracle or sheer luck, but putts over 50 feet were pouring in the hole throughout the day. 

On my 13th hole, I left myself a tough third shot under a tree and behind a bunker, to a front pin location. With an unfortunate bounce, my ball rolled out to the back of the green, with a downhill slider for par, something I had rarely accomplished on one of my least favorite holes on the course. 

By the grace of the golf gods, I made par on that hole with one of my longer successful career putts. My father, standing behind the green with my mother and coach, burst into tears, something I can say I’ve only seen a handful of times before in my life.

After a disappointing finish to my round and my dad squeezing me so tight my ribs almost cracked, I realized the years of him pushing me out on the course were for him just as much as they were for me. My father, the six-time club champion of our home country club and an incredibly accomplished golfer, showed more emotion in me dropping a par putt than any other athletic feat he has achieved. 

In my four years at Linfield, I learned the ins and outs of competitive golf, played with national champions, and found myself on the golf course. But the greatest gift golf has given me is a connection with people, and my father. 

Now I sit here, writing this at my new desk, as the Marketing and Communications Coordinator for AZ GOLF       . My new work address resides off the 18th fairway at Papago Golf Course, with unlimited golf to watch and unlimited rays of sunshine to enjoy. Each of these blessings I owe to my dad, the man who opened the door for me to the bane of my existence and the love of my life, the greatest game ever played. And from now on, the greens fees are on me. 

The start of my golf career, at the age of three with a plastic club at Useless Bay Golf & Country Club.