We had a couple of friends over for dinner a week ago and got to talking about old times and funny experiences. It made me think how stories can explode into something so much bigger than they originally were. Especially the humorous ones.
This story took place in the early 1970s. It was the time of women’s liberation and the bonds of staying at home. My sister and I thought we were liberated, but the truth is, we had little ones at home and even though we sympathized with the feminist movement, we were stuck in the throes of house and hearth. One day, however, we did take a day off to go golfing together.
We packed our clubs into the car. Mine generally sat in the dining room corner, untouched and dusty from lack of use. We hired a baby sitter and off we went to one of the most challenging of courses in Appleton, Wisconsin. I didn’t have time to fix my hair properly that morning, because of three children – need I say more. So I popped on a wig, which wasn’t unusual in those days. I was feeling rather perky and looked cute in my Florence Henderson, perfectly coifed, shaggy hair. The heat of the sun began to cause my poor head to sweat so we decided to rent a cart.
I wasn’t used to such luxury. I hadn’t golfed in over ten years. I was out of shape, but my hair looked good. It was the perfect setup for what was about to happen. I was in charge of driving the cart, even though my sister paid for it. There’s something about being the oldest that has its benefits. The cart was in fair shape, but what we didn’t know was that the brakes weren’t. As we flew down a hill to the 9th hole, I realized that there was no way we were going to stop unless we ran into something.
As usually happens to me in cases like this, my short 30 year life passed quickly before my eyes. I thought for sure this was it – again. I thought about abandoning ship, but that thought was interrupted by the invasion of a firmly planted oak tree, which became our resting place. In that short period of time, all our golf clubs scattered – many of my children’s little toys which had secretly been hidden, were strewn across the green grass. My wig was on sideways. My sister and I pulled ourselves together and proceeded to gather our belongings as a couple young, burly men ran towards us. Little did we know that they were part of the Green Bay Packers football team. You see, the Packers have always been involved in community and many of them owned businesses around town. They helped us set the cart upright and offered to drive us to the clubhouse, but of course there were no brakes. We thanked them for their kindness. One of them noticed the toys strewn about and asked if they belonged to us. In that moment of being rescued by two professional football players, all I could do was say, “no!”
They left and I quickly replaced the toys in my golf bag. My sister was laughing hysterically. I thought it was because of my response about the toys, but she said, “Your wig is sitting on the side of your head.” Of course I was mortified.
After laughing at the story with our friends, one of them asked how we knew they were Green Bay Packers. She had visions of them wearing their uniforms on the golf course. That is just another link to this ongoing tale. I really don’t recall any football players coming to our rescue. I think my husband added that somewhere along the line.
It’s funny how stories grow and grow and grow with time.