He grabs a little plastic ball and an orange club and heads out of the garage to the front weed patch lawn. With one hand and great intensity he swings … and misses. Again, making contact this time, but the ball only takes a little hop forward. After several more attempts, frustration sets in and the crying soon after. Then the club is used simply to whack the ground, after which he stomps away.
She barrels out of the garage, screaming “I play guf!” The club is held with two hands, hockey style. She swings wildly and with enthusiasm … and hits it. Sometimes the ball barely jumps an inch forward, but each time she screams “I did it!” with a little hop. Her attention lasts no longer than his, yet she runs away with glee.
I suppose some are born to the game of golf, for others it is an acquired enjoyment.