My grandfather owns an auto-body chain he started with his own two hands, but when it comes to golfing, the mere subject of it, he has absolutely no discretion. Goes completely bonkers over the sight of a greenfield.
It started when he worked with his Grandpa on Model T's on their farm in Kansas. As a kid, Grandpa Frank got bored in the fields on those hot, shadeless summer afternoons when days leaked into night. He started playing golf using exhaust pipes to hit stones, and now my summer afternoons are spent with Grandpa, on endless green fields without discretion.
Grandpa on the course he made with his own hands, on our farm.
“Grandpa started playing golf with an exhaust pipe and stones”