I scanned the spectacular landmarks of Zion National Park from my lofty perch a top Deer Trap Mountain. The famous sandstone cliffs of Three Patriarchs, Mountain of the Sun, The Great White Throne and Angels Landing among endless other towering walls of stone all came into view.
My parents made me play golf.
The thrill of whacking a dimpled orb with a stick in hopes of it landing in a tiny hole eluded me as a child and continues to elude me as an adult. I appreciate my parents wanting to have a family hobby, but golf? Seriously? Psychedelic-patterned shorts aside, I couldn’t get passionate about the game. Oh, and I was terrible. A danger to myself and those in close proximity.