Whenever I see a bottle of Canada Dry Ginger ale, I think of my mother, but only when it's in a bottle and not in a can.
When she was younger and a good golfer, a
hole-in-one at the 17th at Claremont Country Club in
In those days, Canada Dry awarded such a scorer with a large case of bottled ginger ale. While it lasted, a bottle was included in the lunch I took to school. This permitted me to brag about my mother.
Years earlier, my grandfather also scored one on this same hole. While my mother's achievement was the result of skill, my grandfather's certainly was not. He was a terrible golfer who used a full driver on this short hole. His ball bounced off the out-of-bounds fence, ran through a green-side bunker where it glanced off a rake and then onto the green and into the cup, unique but certainly not prideful.
As the third golfing generation of the
His response to my shout I'd made a hole-in-one was deflating advice that now I'd have to buy everyone at the bar a drink. I had no insurance for that.
I wonder how frequently three members of different generations
achieve what the