“There is no shot in golf so great that you cannot screw up the next one.” – My Uncle Eugene
I was watching the Master’s golf tournament this past weekend. I don’t watch golf that much on TV and when I do it is usually a women’s tournament, but I never miss the US Opens and the Masters because the drama would seem to transcend life itself.
One thing watching golf does is bring back all manner of memories of my Uncle Eugene. Some are great, others not so much, most are good, but watching golf on TV always reminds me of U Gee, as I called him because he introduced me to a game to which I am still hopelessly in love.
Eugene had two passions in life, well three actually if you split boats and deep sea fishing, the third would be golf. He practiced all three of his passions with unbridled passion. U Gee was not a person to step lightly when it came to things he did and he always did them well and as the old golf expression goes, he never left anything in the bag in the process.
Often spoken of although rarely in complement Uncle Eugene wasn’t anyone I had met all that much but at my grandfather’s (his father) funeral, he came and sat beside me and we chatted for over an hour. Both, presumably thankful for the diversion from the solemn affair and the burden of having to deal with our family.
We were both outcasts although for different reasons.
Me, I was the under-performing teen who had a miserable existence in Junior High, as it was called back then, and miserable times 2 in my first year and a half of High School.
All the members of my family were smart, accomplished and well recognized in the community. I was smart enough but being small and non-athletic I had no self-esteem. While I was always treated well and respectfully at home I was usually the target of bullies of all shapes and sizes at every level of school.
I hated being in school because in many ways I saw little use for it and had little motivation to do well in school as a result. This created conflict at home because education was important and there was little reason for me to struggle. Actually there were valid reasons one of which was I could barely see which only surfaced when I went for my driver’s test years later.
I was also diagnosed as a disorganized schizophrenic which for me meant that I had great difficulty dealing with people as most everyone intimidated me.
Eugene was an outcast because he was THAT uncle I suppose. He was my father’s older brother by several years and lived a very full and rich life as he seemed to spend lots or money that no one was ever really certain how he got.
He presented himself to others as abrupt, crude and uncaring but to his close circle of friends was a kind and generous man. He drank heavily, smoked fine cigars and was boisterous and loud. He was an excellent sailor, finder of fish and near scratch golfer.
One aside here, Eugene considered himself a fisherman but he never fished a lake or a stream, his passion was for deep sea fishing as his favorite haunts were the canyons off the northeastern shore. I think he loved fishing the canyons because it humbled him to be there.
“Out here,” he would say from the cockpit of his boat. “Is where you come to appreciate and learn to truly live with nature.”
Eugene cared little about automobiles, he drove around in a big old Pontiac, but in summer he lived on his Egg Harbor boat. My oh my did U Gee love that Egg.
When my mom and he had a closed door conversation after that funeral it was decided that I was to spend the summer living and working with my uncle on his boat. A sort of summer boot-camp to straighten out the wayward child I suppose.
I knew nothing of Eugene going in but I was willing to give it a try because it was better than being at home, made to feel stupid, untalented and inferior all the time.
The first week of this grand experiment didn’t go all that well because while that famous 47 foot Egg Harbor was a reasonably large craft for that day we were having problems adjusting to living together in such a confined space.
In a moment of pique I packed a few things and ran off to walk home. Why I wanted to go there eludes me but I was going crazy and wanted out.
A very angry uncle found me a few hours and 6 miles or so up the road. He took his belt to me right there and beat my back side pretty good. Until much later in life when I was getting actively involved in the BDSM scene this was the worst beating I had gotten. Even counting the almost weekly beatings I had been happily given by school mates.
At this time while clueless as to the nuances of my deep seeded masochistic need I was in the throes of honing my self-destructive tendencies to a fine art, but why is it that the pain seeking masochist in us doesn’t get off on the times when nature deals us a blow? Like stubbing your toe on the coffee table. Shouldn’t I get some sort of rush from this? Why does it just hurt like heck?
Sitting on the car seat with a very sore and multi-colored bottom I wept as Uncle Gene explained how frightened he was, not knowing what had happened to me. He had arrived only minutes after I had left but spent a couple of hours scouring the area. Even going to the extent of donning his snorkel and fins as he looked for my waterlogged body in the marina.
Things those who reside on dry land never consider I suppose as I could have slipped, struck my head and fallen unconscious into the water. Who knew.
We arrived back at the marina to find my parents there. Uh oh!
I was fresh from balling my eyes out, hurt and ashamed, my uncle was also sheepish from giving me that beating.
It was one of those moments in time when actions have long lasting and profound effects on our lives.
My father saw my condition and the guilty look on his brother’s face and assumed the worst and flew into a rage, demanding of me, “Has he hurt you? Did he molest you?”
Now, I never was a very good liar, not like my sister anyways who pretty much lied and charmed her way out of any and all problems, and at this point I was pretty much going to blurt out the truth.
But I hadn’t been asked if Uncle Gene had used a leather belt and given me the beating of my life, I was being asked if he had sexually molested me.
Another thing you need to understand is that in this era sexual molestation was something that did not get the attention it now does although I have little doubt that there is any more prevalence of this horrendous act in this century than there was in the middle of the last.
We just know more about it now.
Being the naïve kid that I was I knew nothing of such things much less that Gene had ever laid a finger on me in that way, so I of course blurted out an honest, “Huh? Oh no!”
Uncle Gene offered quickly that I had wandered off on that day and he had just come back from finding me. Nothing asked about the girl getting her bottom turned 6 shades of red and purple, nothing offered.
We had coffee and tea on board and all discussed what was best for Jamie and as the first and second cups were emptied it was determined that I would spend summers with Uncle Gene on his boat learning the ways of the sea, the world and life.
Had my father asked me, “Did he beat you?” I would of course said yes, there would have been a major blow up and I would have been brought back home where to me there is adequate question if I would have lived to see my 18th or 19th birthday. Because I was that messed up.
Instead I stayed with my uncle and learned discipline. Most of the times the hard way but not discipline and rules that I felt were unfair or unnecessary but I learned the reasons for rules because the sea has no mercy, because being careless and inattentive of important detail can cost you or someone else their lives when you are bounding on 6 to 8 footers some 60 miles from shore.
I learned that I could do things, important and hard things, like docking a hulking wooden hulled boat in 20 MPH winds and a strong tide. I was scared like crazy the first time I docked Uncle Gene’s pride and joy but I was confident when I took the Coast Guard test. I almost wet myself the first time I drove his car but I was confident when I took the test for my driver’s license.
Back then confidence was something other people had, not something I had.
I took at least some of this confidence back to the perilous world of High School as each summer my uncle would build my feelings of self-worth only to have them trampled back down each winter.
My uncle also taught me the very imperfect game of golf and darn it if I didn’t do pretty well at it. I worked harder at it than anything I had before because I loved everything about it, even practicing. Maybe it was because it was the only thing in my life in which I was better at than anyone else in my family, maybe it was that no one ever perfects the game so my own feelings of imperfection didn’t seem so bad.
Sure Eugene and his friends were so much better than me, and better than most, but I see now why my uncle loved both deep sea fishing and golf because in many ways they were so much alike.
Both always held the advantage because you never really beat the sea or the fish and you never beat the game of golf. For the most part you do the best you can and survive. Golf and deep sea fishing reward those who apply diligence, care and patience. If you are sloppy at either they will hurt and humiliate you badly.
As my uncle said, no matter your skill level, golf and the fish can make you look like a hero or a chump, so you learn to smile when you win and laugh at yourself when you lose because most times there ain’t a whole hell of a lot you can do about it either way.
So yes, I love watching the Masters and this year’s event did not disappoint as usual because for the most part I watch because it reminds me of Uncle Eugene and how important he was to my crazy life and how much I learned from him and probably never did say thank you as young and foolish kids never seek able to do.
At this point in my life I am confident that he knew how much he mattered to me because although he looked unpolished nothing got past my Uncle Eugene.
He lived a fast and loose life and died far too young but he lived the way he wanted. He died of cancer and during one of my visits to him he smiled at me and said what a fine looking woman I had turned out to be. A bit of an exaggeration but nice flattery all the same.
He then took me by the hand and whispered, “My one real regret is that I never got to bed down a hot little redhead like you.”
Word alone cannot express how badly I wanted to getting into that hospital bed with him although it is doubtful that it would have done him much good at that point.
Today’s dress called Harper is from Cold Logic. It is a nice fitting mesh dress. I like the way it fit at mu shoulders using the X Small size although I had to do a little breast reduction to my shape to make it fit right. I am pictured in my doll case where Duchess has locked me for the day. I so need to blog about this so maybe later today or tomorrow.
dollysdiary 