I’ve been watching “Full Swing” on Netflix, a sports documentary series about the highs and lows of professional golf.

I was the daughter of a golfer. I spent many weekends following my dad on the golf course. Mostly I found it boring. I’d rather have been swimming at the club’s pool.

I don’t remember having many friends there because I didn’t live with my dad. Even though I was on the swim team, I didn’t make friends. I was intimidated by them as they had the whole summer to bond with each other.

It was easier to tag along with my dad and watch one of his golfing buddies, the club pro, get mad when he missed his shot. I just made sure that I wasn’t in range when he threw his club.

My dad might have been upset at some of his shots but he never threw his club. He was a scratch golfer, (very skilled) so why would he throw a club?

For my housewarming present, my dad sent me a set of Patty Berg clubs and golf bag. Perfect gift, a hole in one, as our house was on the 16th fairway of a local golf course.

That made me get serious about golf. If my memory serves me right, I played every day. I loved playing. Until I got linked to another solitary player, a woman about two heads higher than me. It wasn’t her height, it was her attitude. She couldn’t bear to lose. Which made her constantly grouchy.

I had a little bit of confidence, so I signed up for a women’s tournament. Scary!

The game will forever be on the dark side of my mind. The only thing I remember was I won. Of course my handicap was off the charts, so that helped. I even got a silver-plated platter.

I’d rather have gotten cash like the winners on the PGA tour. They make millions!

The one regret I have is that I never played golf with my dad. That would certainly have been an amazing experience.

One day I played with a friend, a very funny friend. We laughed and played good heartedly until I stepped up to drive one to the moon. My back swing stopped me as my left shoulder popped out.

Don’t ask me how that was possible, it just happened.

The big question was; how did I continue playing?

Ego.

Or idiocy.

I popped my shoulder back in place and finished the remaining holes.

I should have gone straight to a doctor but no, I was never a party-pooper. All these years later, I still have problems with that shoulder.

“The modern golf swing, (from True Sports Physical Therapy) with its emphasis on distance, is harder on the body than the classic golf swing. With a classic golf swing, the hips are aligned with the shoulders and pelvic and shoulder rotation is equal. In the modern version, the hips are ahead of the shoulders and there is limited pelvic rotation. This, obviously, puts more stress on the shoulders and creates a greater potential for injury.”

Most likely, I didn’t fit into either the modern golf swing or the classic swing, when playing with someone else who didn’t take the game seriously.

I only played a few times after that, yet I still get a thrill out of watching golf on TV. I still cringe when a put looks like it’s going in the hole only to miss by a millimeter.

Neither of my shoulders allow me to play. I dislocated my right shoulder when I slipped off a curb. A real pro, I popped that shoulder in. I’ve since had that one mobilized under anesthetic and I regularly have to get a shot to help with the pain.

What’s a girl to do?…stick with the good memories of my father playing golf. No more fun out on the golf course, just watch golf on the tube, sitting in my comfy recliner.

Lucy Llewellyn Byard welcomes comments lucywgtd@gmail.com