When I was twelve I was an avid baseball card collector, ripping open packs mainly in hopes of finding Blue Jays like Pat Borders, Joe Carter and Pat Hentgen. Dempsters bread one year decided to release a Jays team set seeding one player per loaf for a limited time. Seeing that I was collecting the set and that my parents carbohydrate eating habits would never get me even halfway to completing the team before the promotion was up, Grandpa schleps down to Miracle Mart and sifts through the entire shelf, opening each loaf and extracting the cards one by one, not wanting to waste the bread by buying them all, and risking jail time and being booted out of his local supermarket just to make a twelve year old boy happy. That's the kind of man my grandpa was, a straight up mensch always putting the needs of others above his own.
I played Pine Lakes shortly after seeing my grandfather for the last time. It wasn’t a very significant round, didn’t have my first hole in one or any other stroke of divine providence but there was a sense of comfort and peace as I stuck my tee in the ground on the 18th. I caught my first glimpse of “The Granddaddy” text written on the tees they give out and remember thinking this one’s for you grandpa before launching a heaven strafing parabola which would touch down in great shape smack dab in the middle of the fairway.