Mini Golf Update

by Kay Peebles, Office Manager

At approximately 5:30 pm on Wednesday June 18, I get home from work. Mike, a 16-year-old I refer to as “The Teenager” in my phone, my anecdotes, and to my colleagues and friends and family, but who internally I refer to as “little brother,” is lying on his bed with an arm behind his head and his phone in his hand. This, I’ve surmised, is one of The Teenager’s four main states of being (at the gym with headphones, on the couch with Xbox controller, on a bike with friends, and in bed with phone). I announce that today, he said he would go mini golfing with the new youth group at my job. This, of course, is news to The Teenager (if you have one, you likely must remind them several times of things). This is because the average Teenager must juggle a million details that are only vaguely related to one another and it is easy to drop one or two with 999,998 more in the air, and prioritizing comes only with experience.

I sidestep his confusion and hesitation with more enticing details—free mini golf, fun with other teens, and free ice cream—and rush to get changed from work clothes to mini golf–appropriate clothes. When I return, The Teenager is standing, now in a black T-shirt that happens to match mine, his phone in his hand, and a peculiar look on his face. I recognize this look, these nerves, and try to get ahead of them with a timeworn babysitting solution: immediate and efficient distraction.

“You can bring anyone you want, as many as you want,” I say. “How about…” I list off some teens I have driven to Wawa or Wendy’s, teens whose smiles, yelling, and laughter I recognize from the pickup line at North Penn High School, the parking lots of apartment complexes, the sidewalks and back roads of Lansdale. Then I offer a trump card – a friend whose parents I am sure will say yes to a church event.

Did I mention I will drive them? I’ll go get those friends and we’ll go to Freddy Hill together, and then I’ll drive him home. Mention that Freddy Hill Farms is closing and if we don’t go now, who knows if we ever can again. Mention that it’s right now. Right, right now. That we will be on our way the second his parents say yes and there in under ten minutes. Make sure he asks his parents. What did they say? See? I told you so. Come on, let’s go, let’s go.

I have one eye on the clock. It is 6:45 and the meet-up is at 7 pm. The Teenager, his friend, and I get to Freddy Hill Farms almost fifteen minutes late. I tell them to run because Teenagers like running, but also because it helps my nerves. I am still, for now, the Cool Older Sibling. This is a title that took an entire year and a half of investment and kept promises and overzealous support and listening without judging and trying as hard as I can to understand why things are cool. I want to remain the Cool Older Sibling for my entire life and maybe have it put on my headstone or have some sort of plaque about it. Despite proof otherwise, I am certain that a single bad experience will rip my title from me like a Band-Aid. I want The Teenager and his friend to have fun. I want them to relax and be safe and make a million friends. I know I cannot force any of these things and instead just try to have fun and extend the fun I’m having to them.

The clouds are rolling and it’s hot and humid. My T-shirt sticks to my back, and I am not any good at mini golf. Luckily, no one is the Tiger Woods of Mini Golf. Mini Golf, I explain to The Teenager and his friend, is possibly one of the hardest sports ever known to humankind, but it’s a little silly, so that makes up for it. We don’t even keep score. It’s just fun.

We move through hilariously complex courses and lose balls to water, bushes, tall grass, and more water, we laugh at our failures and at each other. We watch the other teens ahead of us and the unrelated family behind us. We cheer for others and cheat just a little when we think Rev. Linda isn’t looking. There are more smiles and laughter than I’ve seen in The Teenager for the last three months.

After we fail to get a free game at the last hole of the course, we trudge in a parade of teenagers and St. John’s adults from the mini golf course to the ice cream shop. We prioritize cooling off with water as we wait in line and try to figure out the best combination of flavors, weigh the pros and cons of gummy bears vs Reece’s Pieces. We talk about whether it’s sprinkles or jimmies, how much chocolate is too much chocolate, waffle cone vs sugar cone.

We sit at a table with the others, and I proudly introduce The Teenager as “my little brother, Mike,” to the President of Council, to Abbie and everyone, and it is not brought up that he looks nothing like me. I have never introduced him as my little brother before, but I am so so proud of him I have to. We take a group photo and we smile and wave and it feels like a wonderful beginning.

We have just left the parking lot when The Teenager turns to me and says thank you. “Thank you for making me do this. It was fun. So much fun. Thank you.”

“Of course,” I say, definitely not tearing up and absolutely holding the steering wheel like a normal, not emotional person. “I’m glad you came. Told you so.” And then, as I put on the turn signal and focus on driving safely, I ask, tentatively “…so, you had fun?”

The rest of the ride is them telling me their favorite parts, about details I had seen and fretted over, about how hilarious it was losing golf balls and leaning over the water, and how good the ice cream was. How it was unbelievably hot, but the ice cream after was perfect.

For the first St. John’s Youth Group Hangout, we provided a space that allowed The Teenager and his friend, fresh out of their first year of high school, to relax without thinking about drama and relationships—to just be teenagers. We were able to provide a fun break from everything going on in their busy and overwhelmingly eventful lives.

As he leaves the car, his friend makes me promise I’ll invite him to the next one.