As I opened the big black truck door, I took my first couple of steps onto the golf course. I was so excited; I was getting ready to jump out of my pants. I was so nervous, because this was my first time playing and I really didn’t want to make a fool of myself, showing that I couldn’t hit the ball.

My papa had his golf shoes on, his blonde hair combed back, his shirt tucked in and he looked like he was ready to play golf. I had my black school shoes on and a brown shirt with my green pants on.
My papa led me right up to the Pro Shop (the house that you pay at to play golf). It was a little small place. In the middle of the shop, there was a fairly large square counter. Under the top of the counter were rows of golf balls. We went right up to the guy that was behind the counter. He had white hair and he was of course, and old man. He had on tan pants and a pink shirt.

After we paid him we headed out to the golf carts. “Oh man,” I said to myself, “I can’t wait to drive that.” The golf cart had a sandy king of outside and a long the seat. The inside (the front part of the cart where the steering wheel is) was all black. We drove back to the black sleek truck. We unloaded all of our golf clubs and set them up in the rear part of the cart. Finally, golf time.
We drove up to the first hole. It was my papas turn to hit the ball. He griped the golf club grip and positioned the golf club to where he wanted it. When he brought the club back he looked straight down at the ball. Ting! He nailed the ball.
It was my turn. Goosebumps crept straight down my spine. I snatched my club right out of my bag and yanked the golf ball from one of the pockets in the golf cart, and forced my self up to the tee off. I placed my shiny white ball onto the bright neon yellow tee. As I grasped my black club grip, I was shaking like I was in Antarctica forever. I pulled back my large headed golf club. I put all my force behind the swing. I was trying so hard to make that little shiny golf ball fly. Ting! I hit that golf ball about twenty yards. “Man,” I said “That didn’t go anywhere!” I stomped back to the golf cart after my horrible hit.

On the third hole, when I hit it up to the green, I made a really long put (about twenty-five feet to be exact). On the other holes my papa kept telling me to point my feet where I want the ball to go.

“Look at your feet, see how that is a whole different place?” Then when I got better at aiming my feet, he kept saying, “Look down at the ball,” (because I kept missing it). I had a really fun time playing golf. Once again, we got back to the black truck. After we unloaded and we both got into the truck, I said “Golf is a really hard game.” “It is, but you have to remember to keep your feet where you want the ball to go and look down at the ball.” I had a great time.