Sometimes the best way to learn is to observe.

Every summer when my family and I are fortunate enough to take a trip to the beach, we make it a point to play miniature golf. This summer we went to a new beach with a different course. Well, nobody likes change. Unlike the course we’d been playing the previous few years, this one was well off the beach and surrounded by a go–cart track, a tiny carousel, some kind of bouncy ride, and attendants that could give Ned Beatty horrific flashbacks. The cups were not depressed like our old course either, which meant we had to actually putt our little colored golf balls into the hole and not just in the general vicinity.

Still, we’d gotten to the course early and were making the miniature turn to the back nine before anyone else showed up. This was one definite advantage over our old course because it was always packed, and someone was always breathing down our necks by the second hole making my young son’s occasional 12th shot hard to finish out. But, in a matter of minutes, I started missing our old course because we may not have had the crowds, but we did have the Darlings…minus the musical talent.

I am not sure this family came from the hills outside Mayberry, but they were just as scary. Dad attacked the course with his scorecard in one hand and a Marlboro in the other. He was wearing more ink than clothing, and his wife followed diligently behind him perfectly willing to hold his cigarette on the tough shots. However, Mom and Dad were not really the problem. They also came with three small children.

Dad was more concerned with his Marlboro and the waterfall on hole two than the fact his youngest child, a boy, was using a putter to viciously attack the underbelly of the giraffe statue overlooking hole six. Dad also barely looked up when his youngest daughter plowed through every hole screaming, “Diddy! Diddy! Put me down for three!”

I’ll grant the mom did seem a bit torn when Junior left the giraffe to take a swim in the Ty–D–Bol blue concrete creek running through the course, but when she saw the creek was only about six inches deep, she returned her full concentration to her husband and his smokes.

The Darlings’ oldest daughter did not attack the course or the statues, but she did have a talent for giving a two syllable saying about ten syllables.

“SHUUUUUUUUUUTTTTT UUUUUUPPPP!” I appreciated the fact she wanted a little peace and quiet, but after shut up number 400, I was pretty sure her message was not going to get through to anyone. It certainly did not reach her sister when she claimed to be a winner on hole number seven.

“Diddy! Diddy! I got a hole in one! The sign says I win a Pepsi! Can I go get my Pepsi?”

Thankfully, Dad continued to ignore her, because the last thing this kid needed was a dose of caffeine – Ritalin maybe – but definitely not caffeine.

Diddy–Diddy, Shut–Up, and the rest of the Darlings were on us by the 17th hole. Needless to say, we didn’t finish well.

I know my kids and I have provided life lessons for plenty of others. Nobody is perfect. We’ve left more than a few Olive Gardens with our tail between our legs, but this day belonged to the Darlings. I left a proud parent that day because, thankfully, my own son didn’t dive into the blue water, too.