More Than a Game: What Golf Passed Down in Our Family

Masters Week Series – Friday Edition

A Note from Me
If Wednesday’s post had you laughing at “Cemetery” and raising your Transfusion in tribute, today’s post will land closer to the heart.

We’re circling back to Bryan—only this time, not as the caddie with the one-liners, but as the son… and the father.

This one’s about bridges.
Between people. Between generations.
And between a few short visits to Augusta that left a lasting mark.

A Sliver of a Day, A Lifelong Memory

Bryan’s dad wasn’t a golfer. But he paid attention. He noticed what Bryan loved—and he made space for it.

In 1983, the final round of the Masters was rained out. For once, the ultra-exclusive Monday tickets opened up—because so many regular attendees had to fly home. Locals could grab a seat they’d never usually be able to touch.

Papaw made sure Bryan was there.
Just a kid. Just for the last few holes.
But it meant everything.

They saw the final moments.
Seve Ballesteros won that year.
And something was planted in Bryan’s soul—something only golf could’ve buried that deep.

He doesn’t remember what sandwich he ate.
But he remembers how it felt to be seen and known by someone who didn’t play the game—but knew enough to step into his world.

The Thread

Bryan’s own love of golf began with clubs his mom bought him and a dad who caddied in high school at French Lick. The food was cheap, the days were long, and the stories became legend.

That thread passed to Bryan… and now, to our children.

Our oldest grew up knowing that April meant something special.

He wore his badge like a trophy, assumed getting to go every year was normal, and always paid attention to the stories.
His first trip inside Augusta National was thanks to my best friend Michelle, who offered us her Par-3 badges. We only had time for a quick picnic and a few photos, but that was enough. It was sacred ground.

He didn’t just hear the lore—he watched it being lived out.

He’s walked the course with me. Several times.
And in 2023, he took his new fiancée to begin family traditions of their own.

I’m not sure we have a photo of he and his dad out there together.
We’ll have to fix that.
It’s long overdue.

And while our youngest doesn’t care much for golf these days, they’ve always loved the family traditions and memories we made around the game. One time, they were even interviewed live by a Savannah TV station. Somewhere, we have a funny photo of some tree climbing, too. It’s adorable—you’ll just have to trust me.

Each year, we took turns—some of us walking the ropes, others happily holding snacks—and I wouldn’t trade that shared rhythm for anything.

When a Taste Was Enough

All of us got our first glimpse of Augusta through a sliver of borrowed time.

Just a few holes.
Just a short visit.
Just enough to fall in love.

You can’t really do that anymore. Tournament policy now limits you to a single in-and-out with your badge—an understandable move to cut down on scalpers and merch flippers.

But for locals?

We miss it.

We miss that freedom. That ease. That chance to slip in and share something sacred—even just for a moment—with someone we love.

“One Day at a Time”: Bryan on Golf, Coaching, and the Memories That Stick

If you ask Bryan about golf, he might just shrug and say:
“You go in knowing it’s one day at a time. If it’s not your day today… come back tomorrow.”

That’s not just how he sees golf—it’s how he lives.

He owned a local driving range we ran together and we had to travel often to Myrtle Beach for products or custom club parts.  He caddied at Augusta National, and coached high school basketball players and golfers. And over the years, the game gave him more than swings and scores.

It gave him stories.

Like taking our oldest to a tournament in St. Simons just to show him what team dynamics really look like—on and off the course. (They went to the beach, dug up a horseshoe crab, and ate at Pizza Inn.)

Or watching his former players grow up into incredible adults—Julian the architect, Daniel the pharmacist, James working in prosthetics. Or watching James almost walk up on an alligator.

Or the time Ryan McClellan was assisting and Alana somehow flew her ball under a bridge and landed it just short of the green.

“I didn’t even see that as a playable option.”

Coaching also gave Bryan a special memory with our youngest. Going to Athens to watch Casey play in a state tournament. Just a fun, shared day that had nothing to do with scorecards and everything to do with being together.

Some people think golf isn’t fun—boring, even. Bryan disagrees:
“Getting away from work and phones? Being outside? That’s the fun.”

His dream course? Pebble Beach. Or Harbor Town.
He says St. Andrews is too cold.
He regrets never playing Doral when he had the chance.

But his favorite memory?

Easy.

“Fun times with my kids. Golf or not.”

Journal Prompts

• What’s a tradition that was quietly passed down to you?
• Who made space for something you loved, even if it wasn’t their thing?
• What’s one memory you didn’t realize was a legacy until years later?

If this post made you want to dig through old photos, hug your kids, or finally organize your cup cabinet, you’ll love tomorrow’s post. We’re going inside the house—where Masters season quietly lives all year long.

Call to Action

Want to share your own three-generation Masters story? I’d love to feature a few on the blog next year. 

Loving Golf Week?

Don’t miss a thing. Subscribe to receive the stories.