My Favorite Masters Memory

Most people’s ‘first times’ are pretty memorable - the first time driving a car, your first earned paycheck, your first kiss. I enjoy sharing first moments with people. I’ll jump at the chance to watch a classic movie with someone for the first time or to introduce them to a favorite restaurant. So, when I got the opportunity to take my oldest son to The Masters for the first time, I was ecstatic.  

My son has always loved golf in a way that was far more intense than my one-week-out-of-the-year fandom. He knew all about the golfers from a young age. He knew their stats, their chances of winning, you name it. He has always been that way. The guy has a knack for remembering sports stats. This has always amazed me because I can’t remember what I had for breakfast this morning.  

A few years back, I was lucky enough to score a couple of passes to a Tuesday practice round. When I told my son, who was 9 at the time, he was beside himself with excitement.  

As we walked out onto the course, the look on his face was pretty much like everyone as they walk past that main scoreboard onto the first fairway for the first time. I could hardly wait to walk him around to my favorite parts of the course. I remember thinking how much he would love watching the golfers skip balls across the water on 16 and how his eyes wouldn’t believe the beauty that is Amen Corner.  

But then, something happened.  

He got lost. He was an excited kid and did what excited kids do. He ran up the rope to watch Phil Mickelson tee off on 10. We were at Augusta National, so I couldn’t exactly go running after him. Running is expressly forbidden. In my excitement, however, I neglected to share this information with him. He quickly disappeared into the congestion where 1, 9, 18 and 10 converge, fading into the sea of patrons like Homer Simpson backing into a wall of hedges. 

My panic briefly subdued when I found him about halfway down the 10th fairway. The only problem was I was on the other side. That meant I now had a new problem - getting his attention. Yelling his name was out of the question and that strip of green separating us might as well have been molten lava. At Augusta National, if you cross the ropes, your day is over.  

So, I stared and willed him to look at me. That’s the only way I can explain it. It worked and I could see the relief on his face as I pointed for him to meet me at the green at the bottom of the hill.  

That was a mistake.  

I didn’t see that kid for another hour. It was probably the longest hour of my life. My 9-year-old son was nowhere to be found. As a parent, losing one of your children ranks high on the things-not-to-do list.  

To make matters worse, it’s Augusta National, which means I have no phone, so he can’t call me. I can’t go around yelling his name. They don’t have a “Lost Parents” area. It’s not exactly Six Flags.  

After what felt like an eternity, I was finally approached by an E-Z-GO driven by a guy in a green jacket with my teary-eyed son riding shotgun. I tried not to let on how panicked I had been because, as parents, we’re supposed to have everything under control. I bought him a peach ice cream sandwich, walked him over to the Amen Corner and breathed the biggest sigh of relief in my life.  

Since then, I’ve been on the course several times and, over the years, I’ve been fortunate enough to see some of the more exclusive areas of the property. I’ve shaken hands with a few notable members. I’ve seen some of the biggest names in golf tee off on 18 on Sunday. Still, losing and finding my son remains my biggest and, somehow, my favorite Masters memory.