Dad practised putting in the hallway with two tees and a glass cup. Three points if you hit the corner of the glass. Six points if you rolled the ball into it. That's how we learned to aim.
Dad always said he wished he'd turned professional himself. But he had kids. He got married. His dream died. So he wished one of the boys would take it seriously. None of them did.
So he just played. Practised every day, weather permitting. He had a golf net at home, and he'd practise putting in the hallway or the lounge with two tees and a glass cup. That was great practice for all of us.
Mum was good‑natured – until she played with Dad. He was serious, straight as an arrow. The only time he played bad was when he missed one or two putts. That would get his confidence down.
He was president of Tītahi Golf Club – twice – and I think he quite enjoyed it. Unfortunately, he was not made a life member – for all his commitment. He left the Club because he wasn't liked anymore. He played for such a long time. It was sad to see him give up the game.
His dream didn't die. It moved into me.
That's the thing I still wonder: why was my father not chosen as a life member? I can't work it out. If there's a reason, I wish they would let me know. Because now some are treating me the same.