I know that poetry month is over but poetry can be habit forming. Today, I'm watching Chandler at a Hurricane Jr. golf event in Knoxville. It's the first of his tournaments I've been able to follow him from start to finish.
I didn't go looking for a random poem to share, rather I found myself thinking along these lines as I watched my boy take to the tees and hold his own amongst competitors of all kinds. ..and some who are not kind at all.
He's playing well enough- might not take home the biggest trophy today- but he's right on par in his pursuit of becoming a man, a real-life gentleman...and that's who this game belongs to, no?
I'm his mom, I'm supposed to be proud I guess - but this reaches beyond pride into hopefulness and joy.
If he never plays golf well again another day of his life, but holds to integrity and fosters the growth of good character in every facet of his life for the rest of those same days, a green jacket will pale in the splendor of his array.
IF
Rudyard Kipling
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!
