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I don't remember life before golf. My earliest golf memory is riding on the ball pocket of my Dad's big old Burton golf bag, on a Bag Boy pull cart. I later 'graduated' to pulling that cart for what I remember was $2 per round, and an extra buck if I cleaned and polished the clubs and his Allen Edmond shoes. Our small South Texas town had a 9-hole golf course that was a focus of our family's life.
My Dad was a good amateur player. And the Thursday, Saturday and Sunday games were important to us, watching good players tee it up and go at it. In the summer, each little town had their annual "Barbecue Circuit" tournament; 2-man better ball. To us kids, that was the 'real' Tour, the one we could relate to. There'd be a hundred people around the final green watching the Championship flight finish.
The golf shop at our little course was a magical place. The best thing was hanging around there on Saturday mornings listening to the men talk golf. And, of course, getting to admire all those beautiful forged irons and persimmon woods.