My Uncle’s Sense of Style
Another much appreciated guest submission. Keep 'em coming.
In grade school, while the rest of my class yearned to hang out with Mickey Mouse and friends, I wanted nothing more than to spend school vacations at my aunt and uncle’s country club. We’d arrive at their house to the sweet sounds of our car tires crunching ground stone, past my uncle’s Jeep Grand Wagoneer with protruding fly rods and I’d barrel out of the car and through the front door into the arms of the best hosts an 8-year-old kid could ever dream of. My uncle planned my entire weekend. He booked early mornings of fishing at the stream, rounds of golf and, most importantly, court times with the head pro and other kids my age. Those clay courts were immaculate! Between matches, my aunt would meet me at lunch by the pool and treat me to the best grilled cheese sandwiches I had ever tasted. Who needed Powerbars? Back on the court, I made a point to exaggerate every slide as I lunged to keep the ball in play and the days from ending.
My uncle was the consummate gentlemen, a strategic storyteller and everyone’s favorite at the Club. I could do no wrong as his sidekick and I’d make sure to drop no more than five feet or so behind him, afraid of what might happen if I fell back too far. Would I lose my privileges for the deep end at the pool? Would they put an end to the all the Roy Rogers I could drink?
My uncle taught me at a very young age that in life it is better to be joyful than boastful. He rode horses, skied, fished and competed well into his eighties (grandfathered golf cart privileges helped) and his laughter always drowned out his wins and losses. Each night we would bet a quarter on a best-out-of-five ping-pong match. A sign above the ping-pong table read “Win with Honor, Lose with Grace” and I tried with all my might to act accordingly.
It was impossible to ignore my uncle’s distinct, casual sense of style. When he wasn’t dressed in ancient jodhpurs and a tattered master-of-the-hounds waistcoat, he often wore sweaters struggling from too many days in the stream and classic polos from Boast. I’ll never forget the end of one weekend visit, when he brought me into the pro shop and bought me one of my own with the Club’s logo on the front. I was afraid to wash it after days of showing it off at school. Twenty years later, it’s a pleasure to add to the collection.
-Will R., Boast fan
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In grade school, while the rest of my class yearned to hang out with Mickey Mouse and friends, I wanted nothing more than to spend school vacations at my aunt and uncle’s country club. We’d arrive at their house to the sweet sounds of our car tires crunching ground stone, past my uncle’s Jeep Grand Wagoneer with protruding fly rods and I’d barrel out of the car and through the front door into the arms of the best hosts an 8-year-old kid could ever dream of. My uncle planned my entire weekend. He booked early mornings of fishing at the stream, rounds of golf and, most importantly, court times with the head pro and other kids my age. Those clay courts were immaculate! Between matches, my aunt would meet me at lunch by the pool and treat me to the best grilled cheese sandwiches I had ever tasted. Who needed Powerbars? Back on the court, I made a point to exaggerate every slide as I lunged to keep the ball in play and the days from ending.
My uncle was the consummate gentlemen, a strategic storyteller and everyone’s favorite at the Club. I could do no wrong as his sidekick and I’d make sure to drop no more than five feet or so behind him, afraid of what might happen if I fell back too far. Would I lose my privileges for the deep end at the pool? Would they put an end to the all the Roy Rogers I could drink?
My uncle taught me at a very young age that in life it is better to be joyful than boastful. He rode horses, skied, fished and competed well into his eighties (grandfathered golf cart privileges helped) and his laughter always drowned out his wins and losses. Each night we would bet a quarter on a best-out-of-five ping-pong match. A sign above the ping-pong table read “Win with Honor, Lose with Grace” and I tried with all my might to act accordingly.
It was impossible to ignore my uncle’s distinct, casual sense of style. When he wasn’t dressed in ancient jodhpurs and a tattered master-of-the-hounds waistcoat, he often wore sweaters struggling from too many days in the stream and classic polos from Boast. I’ll never forget the end of one weekend visit, when he brought me into the pro shop and bought me one of my own with the Club’s logo on the front. I was afraid to wash it after days of showing it off at school. Twenty years later, it’s a pleasure to add to the collection.
-Will R., Boast fan
