9. JT
Chapter nine
JT
“Hey, Dad,” I answer my phone on speaker before setting it on the grass next to my ball so I can continue to line up my putt. To be clear, I would never answer my phone—let alone put it on speakerphone—at a normal golf course. I’m a strict rule follower and always leave my cell phone in the locker room. But unsurprisingly, Wild Bluffs Country Club doesn’t have the same rules as most courses. While I’m guessing it technically has a no-phones policy, no one abides by it. However, I admit my knowledge is limited because you rarely ever see another human while playing out here—unless you both happen to be a long way into the rough, that is. So it doesn’t really matter either way.
“JT, your mother informs me you are sitting the next few tournaments out due to an injury. Are you sure that’s the right move for your career?”
It’s a classic question from my dad, so I should’ve been expecting it. Calling him “involved” in my career is like calling the universe “big.” It’s technically true, but at the same time, it doesn’t come close to encapsulating the magnitude. He gave up his lifelong dream of playing professional golf himself when I was seven, choosing to coach me instead. Since then, he has dedicated every minute of his life to making sure I’m the best golfer I can be, even though he hasn’t been my coach since I left for college ten years ago.
“I talked with all my people, Dad. We all agree this is best.” I pause, considering if I should tell him the truth, but I decide against it, so I add, “Based on my injury.” Do I wish I had the type of relationship with my dad where I could admit that my “injury” is ten percent a physical ache in my lower back and ninety percent the mental clusterfuck that my mind is? Sure. But I don’t. My dad, like the media, tends to handle physical ailments much better than mental ones.
“And are you sure your team has your best interest in mind? I cannot imagine how taking a month off from tournaments can be beneficial. Plus, as your financial advisor, I feel the need to remind you that it’s important to keep bringing in additional earnings. A few of those investments you suggested have been underperforming.”
“I’ll still be out on the course, Dad. It’s not like I’m going to be sipping margaritas on the beach for a month. I’m—”
“I’ve got to go, JT. Some of us still have work to do.” He chuckles at his joke before continuing, “But I told your mother I would call and make sure you were able to make contact with one of the Ferguson brothers. I also had Penelope put together my thoughts on your putting, including a few videos of your last three tournaments with a voiceover from me.”
“Okay, um, thanks.” I’m sure his assistant enjoyed every minute of that task. Who doesn’t join a finance firm to splice together golf videos for their boss?
“Oh, you’ll also be getting a few notifications about a couple of transfers I made in your accounts last week.”
“I’ll look them over and sign whatever you need to move the money.”
“No need. I had Penelope go ahead and start making the changes, since I’m on your accounts.”
“Oh, well, that’s…convenient.” A classic Ronald Johnson move. Make it sound like he’s doing you a favor when he’s just forcing you to do whatever he wants.
“You’re welcome, Son. Well, I’ve kept my next meeting waiting long enough. Make sure you don’t take your foot off the pedal. You only get one shot at this thing, and you don’t want to miss it because you weren’t willing to push through a little pain.”
And with that lovely goodbye, he hangs up.
I pick up the extra golf balls I’d been practicing with and swing my bag over my shoulders. The worst part about this course is that they don’t allow golf carts. I like walking, but I don’t like walking all day if I’m not in a tournament—and then I have my caddie along to carry my bag.
Knowing I’m going to hate the conversation I’m about to have with my assistant, Sam, I call him anyway.
“Hey, JT. I just got the best email from your lovely father. How is it that the money you invest through him always returns far less than the money you invest yourself or in the S&P? You really need to start asking more questions, JT. You know your stuff when it comes to investing, and your parents are actively losing your money. Oh, and speaking of losing money, your mom called to let me know you’re paying for their home renovation.”
“Sam,” I say, trying my hardest to stop his rant.
“Your parents suck.”
“They are good parents. I would most certainly not be where I am today without them. It takes a lot of parental support to become a professional golfer, you know?”
“Yes, which they remind you of any time they want something from you.”
“That’s not true.”
“Remember when your mom pulled that card so she could use the jet you already had booked to go to New York for one of her friends’ art show openings?”
“I was happy to lend it to her,” I say, setting down my bag by the large cooler stocked with waters and grabbing one out.
“She met you at the tarmac with her other friends in tow as you were getting ready to leave. You ended up having to fly economy to get to Florida when you needed to.”
“Economy is fine. The flight from California to Florida isn’t so bad.”
“We are not discussing whether or not economy is fine, which it isn’t, by the way, some of us just don’t have another option.”
“Do I not pay you enough, Sam? You know I’ll give you a raise.”
“JT, do not distract me with shiny things. This is about your parents taking advantage of you. They can book their own flights and pay for their own renovations. They were the parents. They chose to drive you all over the country to go to all your golf stuff.”
I hear a rustle in the long grass and now am only giving about a fourth of my attention to Sam. If I’m attacked by a rattlesnake out here, I’m packing up my bags and living out of a hotel for the next six weeks. I cannot stand snakes. No living thing should be able to move their body the way they do. I swear I had a minor heart attack last time I was on a course and one slithered in front of me.
“My dad also gave up his future as a professional golfer to let me have the dream instead. He reminds me about it frequently. ‘I could’ve been a better golfer than you, but I wanted my son to have the dream, not me.’”
“What?” Sam asks, his voice full of anger.
“Um, what?” I say, not sure what we are talking about because…well…there is a snake that is about to pop out of the grass and wrap its far too bendable body around my leg before biting me and leaving me for dead in the middle of nowhere.
“Did you just say your dad frequently suggests he would be a better golfer than you?” he asks again slowly, in a tone that is far too controlled for Sam.
Shit. Did I just say that? It’s something I’ve kept to myself, particularly with Sam, who already judges my parents far too harshly. Not everyone can be as amazing as his parents. I still tear up a little thinking about how supported Sam felt when he told his parents he was interested in men. When Sam first told me the story, I wanted to track down his dad and give him the world’s biggest hug. Sam’s parents are essentially the definition of unconditional love. He is amazing at his job, smart, quick-witted, and takes shit from no one. I don’t know how anyone could be anything but supportive of him. But Sam’s parents have also not had to give up their lives for him to be who he is. On the other hand, I’ve caused my dad to sacrifice his dreams, and my mom to sacrifice her face.
“JT?” Sam asks.
“Oh, um. I mean, he’s mentioned it once or twice. And he was about to get on the tour when I started showing promise.”
The grass moves again, and fuck it—I can’t stand here and have a real conversation and keep an eye out for the snake. I climb on top of the cooler, sitting cross-legged, ensuring no part of my body is exposed to any possible snakes passing by.
“You make it sound like you forced your parents to give up their lives for you. You know that’s not true, right?”
“Nope. That is one hundred percent true,” I say.
“Leaving your dad and the outrageous claim that he was suddenly going to make it as a professional golfer at the ripe age of like forty aside, your dad chose to give up on his golf career to coach you.”
I can practically hear the quotation marks around the term “golf career.”
“To help me become a professional golfer. Which I am ,” I respond.
“And what guilt exactly do you feel toward your mom? The lady who seems to think that what’s yours is hers, including your checking account.”
I pick at the top of the cooler as I picture Sam’s ice-blue glare right now.
“JT?”
“It’s my fault she has the scar across her face.”
“What scar?” he asks, as if the thin white stripe that traces her cheekbone isn’t the first thing anyone sees when they look at her face.
“The one on her cheek, just under her eye,” I say, my voice a bit softer.
“Okay, I may remember that. Though, to be clear, it’s not noticeable. And even if it were, how could that possibly be your fault?”
“She was working two jobs to pay for everything after my dad quit his job to coach me.”
“And?”
“And one day, after working the night shift, she got home and had to drive me to meet my dad at the course where he had been trying to get in a couple of rounds himself that morning. I could tell she was exhausted but made her drive me anyway.”
I cough, trying to hide the emotion that finds its way into my voice any time I think about that morning. “On her way home, she fell asleep behind the wheel. The car hit a tree and the windshield broke. One of the pieces of glass cut her face. Because we were so short on cash at the time, she didn’t go to a plastic surgeon. Now, it’s too late to make it go away.”
“Oh, JT,” Sam says, sympathy in his voice. “That’s not—”
“Sam,” I cut in. “I appreciate that you care about me, I do. But my parents love me. I like being able to pay them back for all their sacrifices by lending them my jet time or by investing in the business they started.”
“They've lost half a million dollars of your money, JT.”
“ What? ” I ask.
“Your accounts with your dad lost 500,000 dollars this year while the stock market has soared. And it’s not just that I’m concerned about how they managed to lose so much money, it’s also going to make a substantial impact on your cash flow for the year…especially since you aren’t bringing in a lot of money right now.”
Here’s the thing about being a professional athlete: we make a lot of money, but we spend a lot of money too. I have a substantial number of people on my payroll and spend a lot on traveling across the world to play. I’m working really hard to not be one of those athletes who end up broke because of their spending habits, which is why I have a lot of my net worth tied up in investments. Unfortunately, it means cash flow can occasionally become an issue when I go for a while without bringing home money from a tournament.
“Will the winnings from Phoenix cover what we need?” I ask.
“Yes. Of course it will. But we were talking about investing it in that—”
“Okay, well, as long as I have the cash flow to pay you all, then I’ll be fine. I don’t need to invest in another startup right now.”
Being an angel investor is one of my favorite things to do with my money. The one time I brought it up to my dad, he told me I should leave the investing to the professionals. Unfortunately, my parents’ investment firm doesn’t invest in start-ups, so I’ve been keeping some “fun money” on the side to try out a few investments that speak to me. Sam and I are both interested in new business opportunities, so he spends a ton of his time finding one or two perfect investment opportunities each year for me. It’s not a fail-proof system, so while we’ve had a couple of really good returns, we’ve also invested in two companies that went under completely.
And while I appreciate it as an investment vehicle, it isn’t truly about the money for me. It’s about seeing passionate people finally have the resources they need to make their dreams come true, kinda like when I was able to invest enough money with my parents that they could start their own firm.
I’ve never felt something as amazing as the first time I met with the CEO of a company I had just invested in. Her excitement was palpable, and it felt like that moment a roller coaster starts racing down the hill you just climbed—pure euphoria.
“Are you sure? We’d found that baby bottle company with the screw-on bags. It seemed really good.”
“I know. And it is a really good one. Keep monitoring it. I’ll win another one soon, and we can make sure everyone has the money they need.”
But for the first time ever, I start to question if I will ever make enough money for my parents to have what they need—what they deserve for the sacrifices they’ve made for me.