It was another beautiful spring day on the golf course.  The sun was shining, birds were singing, and the scent of freshly trimmed grass filled the air.  As usual, the members of the varsity golf team made the drive from the school to Headwaters Country Club.  Upon arriving at the course, we were instructed to split into two groups.  The first group was to practice putting on the practice greens and the second was told to head to the driving range.  Being placed in the second group, I grabbed my clubs and hurried to the range with the others. 

Everything went as planned for the first ten minutes, and I cycled through my clubs as I sent balls soaring into the open field.  When it was time to hit with my Taylormade driver, I decided to hit from the open space behind Ian, who was a top golfer on the team.  We each hit a few balls and watched them land, impressed with how we were each hitting that day.  Then, we each placed a ball on a tee, hit at about the same time, and both watched our balls land.  Or so I thought.  As the balls were still mid-flight, I decided I could slip behind Ian to grab a different club.  I assumed he, unlike myself, would watch his ball until it landed. 

Whack!  

I fell to one knee and clutched my face where Ian’s club had struck me.  The intense pain and confusion seemed to put my world into silence.  The silence was then broken by the voice of Remington.

“Ah man, you’re bleeding!”  Remington exclaimed.

“No I’m not!” I replied, still clutching my face.

At that point, I decided to look at my hand.  To my horror, it was covered in crimson red blood.  I returned my hand to the laceration and a metallic taste began to fill my mouth as the blood ran down my face. 

“Does anyone have a towel?” I frantically asked as I stumbled toward the building group of golfers.
“Zach, give him your towel!” yelled a concerned teammate.

He replied, “But it’s my brand new one!”

Furious, I yelled, “Zach! Give me the towel!”

I snatched the clean, white towel from his outstretched hand and quickly placed it over my wound.  Andrew  offered to walk with me to the putting green to inform the coach, Tadd, of what had happened.

“Tadd, we had a little accident!” Andrew said as we approached the green.

Tadd chuckled as he turned around.

“Wha- Oh God, what happened?”

Despite my adrenaline rush, I explained to Tadd what had happened, and he immediately went to find a substitute coach so he could drive me to the emergency room.  As I waited in the basement of the clubhouse, I decided to take a peek at what the club had done to my face.  Upon first glance, the lower of the two gashes appeared to be quite a bit longer than I later realized.  This immediately put me into a panic.  I wondered what the scar would look like and how noticeable it would be.  I thought of how embarrassing it would be to have an unattractive scar streaked across my face.  I became angry when I thought of how my stupid action caused my face to become disfigured.  Before I could come up with any more irrational worries, Tadd walked down the stairs and told me he was ready to go.

The ride to the emergency room was a blur to me and not much was said during it.  My mom was already there when we arrived, so I thanked Tadd for the ride and he went back to the course.  We checked in and sat in the waiting room for what seemed like hours.  The ticking of the clock on the wall slowed to a crawl.  Other patients came and went, but I remained stationed in the increasingly uncomfortable chair.  When I was finally brought to a room, I thought the waiting was over and they would stitch me up.  I was dead wrong.  More time passed and I grew frustrated.  By the time the doctor had arrived, the bleeding had ceased and I was eager to get out of there.  Upon examination, the doctor decided that I needed five stitches.  Two on the cut above my eye and three on the cut below. 

First, the doctor needed to numb the area. The stitches went in quite easily with very little pain.  Once they were all in, I decided to take a look in the mirror to see how it looked.  I was rather pleased with how small the cuts actually were compared to how big I thought they were.  At that point, I knew a couple of small scars on my face wouldn’t bother me.

In life, we all must make decisions, just like my poor decision to step behind Ian.  A few extra seconds of thinking could have made the difference between getting hit with the club or not. Thinking before any decision can make all the difference between a positive or negative consequence.  Getting hit with that golf club gave me a new understanding.  It made me learn that along everyone else, I must think before my actions.

A few days later at practice, a younger golfer asked me about my black eye. I proceeded to tell him the story and I watched his giddy expression turn to one of concern. By the end of the story, he seemed a little less excited to begin golfing. I explained to him that by taking a few precautionary measures, golf can be one of the safest sports out there. Later on, as the rest of his group was teeing off, I noticed him standing an exaggerated distance away from the swinging clubs.