Windmills and Loopty Loops

When I was nine, my family moved from Sioux City, IA, to Chanhassen, MN. It was the summer between third and fourth grade for me. 1989. We moved because my dad’s sexual infidelity had been discovered and his life had essentially crashed and burned. Fired by the church, he had gone to rehab for sexual addiction in suburban Minneapolis. Again, I was nine, so I didn’t really understand much of that. I just knew I was leaving my friends.

I had a lot of friends in Iowa. The early-life friendships, fostered in preschool, kindergarten and tee-ball. Pure friendships, based solely on youthful curiosity and proximity. But now I was leaving Big John T, Mark Munger, Conrad and Joey Hope. Joey was the best athlete by a mile, and we all looked up to him with a Jimmy Chitwood-like reverence. It was a great group, and I was extremely sad to leave.

There were things I was looking forward to in Minnesota though. The promises of a McDonald’s on the corner of our new neighborhood, and a gas station with Lunchpail Kids card within bike-riding distance had been selling points. And our new neighborhood was also filled with kids my age. In the years that followed we would forge quite the “Kick the Can” crew, and crash our bikes repeatedly off homemade ramps more times than I can remember.

But, when we first arrived, I was friendless, bored and scared of school starting. I struggled with pretty intense anxiety already, and at that age, that meant worrying about when recess was, how I would get there and how I would make new friends. The tee-ball friendships had already been formed by then.

However, it was still summer, as we moved in June. I loved mini-golf as a kid. I mean I loved it. We had a decent course in Sioux City, but we would often drive almost 45 minutes to a town called Le Mars. They had the cool course, with the Disney characters painted on the wall of the clubhouse. I would often design mini-golf holes in my drawing notebook in the car. My dream was to one day design and build my own course. I felt most courses were too bland and unoriginal. I would be the Pete Dye of Mini-Golf one day.

As always, my parents were supportive of my dreams. This wasn’t hard for my dad, because he also loved mini-golf.

When we arrived in Minnesota, he quickly researched the courses in the area, and much to my delight, there was a course about a 10-minute drive from our new house. We went to check out Lilli-Putt in Minnetonka, MN one of our first nights there. And quickly discovered that it was hard. Really hard. There were angles to figure out with this course! Strategies to be worked out over many rounds. Better still, on our first visit we saw a flier for the “Tom Thumb Mini-Golf Classic.” Tom Thumb was a local gas station chain and they sponsored this summer-long tournament.

It was perfect for dad and me, and my brother and sister. Although I’m not sure either Ben or Sarah shared our passion for the mission. Qualifying rounds were played throughout the summer. You played, you logged your score at the putter shack and come August the top 72 scores would compete in the regional qualifier. Our Lilli-Putt was one of two. I was fascinated by the idea that there was another Lilli-Putt, the big leagues of mini-golf in a mystical land called Coon Rapids, MN.

Round after round we played. Trying different strategies and angles and approaches for the various holes until we had perfected our tournament strategies for the regionals. “We need to get one more round in dad,” I said the day before regionals. “We can’t today, I’ve got to get some work done,” he responded. “But it’s the regionals!” When I said that in exasperation, he quickly understood. It was after all, the regionals! And so we played one more round. I remember it like it was yesterday.

On the day of regionals, I succumbed to something that would later plague my golf and athletics career. I couldn’t handle pressure. That’s ultimately what led me to broadcasting, but that’s a story for another time. My dad did handle the pressure. And qualified for the state finals! The state finals! We celebrated this achievement with a stop at Tom Thumb of course for Cokes for me and pipe tobacco for him. I didn’t really care that I hadn’t qualified. Dad had, and he was my hero anyway. If anyone was going to win, it would have to be him. It was a perfect day. I can’t recall still to this day feeling that content.

It also meant we had to make multiple trips to the big league Lilli-Putt in Coon Rapids. And it was everything I had imagined. Immaculate new turf. Even tougher layout. Dad made friends with the owner during one practice round and he shared with him the local knowledge of the course hole-by-hole. I tagged along of course. This was akin to a practice round for “The Masters” for a nine-year old.

Dad did not win it all, but he finished in the top five and that was more than good enough for me. We vowed to practice harder the following year and called it a summer.

34 years later I still have an old Tom Thumb Mini-Golf Classic ‘89 button on my broadcast bag. It reminds me of how I felt that summer. Stuck somewhere between the friends and life I had left in Iowa, and not yet starting my new life. It was a blissful existence focused on just a few simple things. The Cubs of course, catch in the yard and mini-golf. I remember it as a time of great connection for my dad and me, and the end of that summer as an important mile-marker in my life.

In the weeks to come, I would start my new school, and all the anxiety I had felt came to fruition. Scary new teachers and kids. A foreign layout, and a longing to go back to Iowa, or at the very least to the mini-golf course. I of course, got through those tough early times and made new friends and had a great middle and high school experience, but all these years later I still reflect fondly on that summer. Because I think it was also an escape for my dad. He was of course, dealing with the beginning of his own scary new life.

One that would eventually lead to a journey of he and my mom helping thousands of people through their joint ministry and teaching. A life ultimately exceptionally well-lived, but one that he probably couldn’t imagine in the summer of 1989.

Times passes, innocence is lost, people move away. Realities of life, and there were long stretches in my life where I didn’t see my dad nearly as much as I would like. But our love of mini-golf endured, and it became our tradition to play a round on his birthday (July 5th). We fulfilled that tradition one last time in 2019, a couple of months before he died. He was too feeble to play the full 18, and in some ways it fractured the nostalgia that the outing would usually give me. But that returned after he passed, and I quickly realized there was a way I wanted to honor him. With my own mini-golf tournament played in his honor. Of course my family was on board and we started planning.

But things and life have a way of getting in the way. The pandemic certainly didn’t help. But now, as we have launched the Ladybugs and have settled into our new life, much like I did all those years ago, the time is right. And so, it gives me great pride to introduce our newest event, The Ladybug Mini-Golf Classic, which will be held on October 10th in honor of my dad’s memory. It is my dream that this day will annually become an opportunity for families to come together and make their own fun memories and also aid our mission to end the stigma that surrounds mental health.

Mini-golf was certainly therapeutic for me back then, and I know it will give him great joy to know that it still does. And that our tournament will also help the mental health of so many young people.

Sign ups are now open HERE. We hope to see you there!