Today was a special day. It was made special by my wife, who suggested that we play golf today. We never play golf. All day yesterday I could think only of today. And, today couldn’t come fast enough.

My wife has golf clubs.  I bought the set for a daughter who showed much promise, but later decided to focus on acting.  It’s a nice set, specially made for women, and about one inch longer than standard.  It’s called a “Square Two” set, and has a number of shorter irons, a few hybrids, and a few metal woods.  The shafts are creamy yellow, and the accent color is a deep red.  The bag has matching colors, of course.

I have a set of clubs also.  I bought them some years ago, when I was playing more with the guys at work.  Like many golfers, I discovered that my clubs were just not right for me, so I sold them to a US Navy pilot passing through my town, and put the money towards a new set.  Ping, of course.  Model S59.  According to the Ping static fitting model, these are perfect for me.  Later, a Ping expert watched me swing with them, and checked the impact tape he place on the sole.  Perfect.  No question about it.

Since my set was only the 5 iron through the pitching wedge, I needed a few more clubs.  I found most pros were firing at the flag using a series of wedges.  Since I rarely land on the green, I decided to buy more wedges, but to purposely find wedges that were not Ping, and not even the same brand.  I found a 52 degree Mizuno, a 56 degree Nike SV Tour, and even a special Callaway X grind 60 degree wedge.  That’s a nice wedge.  It’s perfect for lofting shots from near the green onto the green.  Short shots.  Supposedly you need lots of feel to do that.  I think you just need practice.  Boy, do I get a lot of practice.  But, they made the wedge out of “carbon steel” instead of stainless steel.  For feel.

I don’t know if the carbon steel feels that different than stainless steel, but the wedge does work.  It pitches the ball way up in the air, and lands it softly on the green.  Once on the green, of course, I get to putt the ball.  A lot.  Usually three strokes or more.  The wedge?  It works fine.

But today, when I pulled the wedge out of the completely cool Callaway stand bag, with high-tech swingarms for standing the bag up, pockets for everything, and space to hide at least six cans of beer, I was chagrined.  The special wedge was, well, rusted.  Completely rusty.  Face, back,sole, and hosel.  Dark rust.  Like a deep red stain.  I played with it.  It worked.  But, I was disappointed.

I was unhappy that something so unusually nice was now damaged.  I was sad that something so perfect when I purchased it was now and forevermore would be imperfect.  I was disappointed in my lack of care for it.  For my neglect.

The clubs have been idle for some time.  They have been “in the way” more times than I can remember as I putter about the garage.  I’ve moved them back and forth to make room for bicycles, car repairs, and the annual Christmas equipment boxes that have to come down from the shelves.  I could never sell them.  But, I wasn’t using them.  And so, the wedge sat.  And rusted.  And rusted some more.

So today, I played with a rusty wedge.  And, I played golf with my wife.  Nine holes.  Par 3.  I found something else was rusty.  My relationship with my wife.  I see her every day.  I talk to her every day.  I eat with her every day.  But, today, I saw the rust.  We hadn’t been out doing something together in a long time.  I knew today would be hard for her, since she rarely plays golf.  But, I knew she was doing this for me.  To show her care for me.  And, to look towards a future with me.  We’re getting older.  We see a future where we won’t be working.  And, we need something to do together.

We were together today.  We were out on a nice Sunday morning, and spent two hours together.  We fought the course, each in our own way.  But we were united.  It was truly a fun morning.  We pulled our bags on our thrift-store $10 bag carts up and down the hills.  We cheered each other on, and encouraged each other.  We guided each other.  We listened to each other.  We were a couple today.  It was a good day.

This evening, I took out that rusty wedge.  I found some metal polish, and some 0000 steel wool.  I worked on that wedge for a long time.  It’s not stained as much now.  In some ways, it looks okay.  But I can see the rust.  I don’t guess it will ever go away.  Even so, I can still use it.  I can still make those lob shots and pretend to be Phil Mickelson.

I wonder how to polish away the rust in the marriage with my wife.  It won’t be easy.  I don’t think they make a chemical to restore the glimmer in the eyes of a bride looking at her groom 24 years ago.  I can’t ever remove the rust damage on this club, me, the only club in the bag, completely.  Each moment I failed to be the husband God asks me to be, another scintilla of rust corroded me, somewhere.  It might not be visible, but the rust changes me and my marriage forever.

I think the only way forward is to play the course, with my rusty wedge.  Playing means with each stroke, a bit more rust comes off the club, as I strive to be like a champion holding the cup aloft.  Playing together means we will find a path to the green, even if we get off the course a bit.  Playing together means we will find joy in each other’s trials and triumphs. And, playing with my rusty wedge means it will soon have the fine polished patina of an heirloom, ready to celebrate 25 years together.  Here’s to 25 more!