A feeling to describe happy feet, due to perfectly fitting shoes
It’s hard loosing someone who’d looked out for you from the start. When a cruel twist of fate took my elder brother Pete out of the game I felt as if the colour had drained out of my life. I missed the larger than life character with his wicked sense of humour. He had an amazing ability to extract a smile from even the most miserable of faces.
I’d been helping Pete erect an arbour in his garden and being aware he was looking tired and not his usual ebullient self, watched with concern as he seemed to go into a trance, staring into the far distance. “Pete, are you OK?” I said, but there was no reply. Fearing he was about to faint, I helped him down onto the grass. He started talking gibberish and when a plucky robin landed nearby he pointed to it, uttering in slurred tones, “look it’s Fiona.” His wife Fiona who had died some years earlier had been a great bird watcher and loved robins.
I called for an ambulance which arrived soon enough. The paramedics helped Pete onto a stretcher but by then he’d become like a child, acting as if it was all a game, sitting up as he was wheeled away, laughing and waving his arms wildly about his head.
An MRI revealed a brain tumour and Pete was scheduled for surgery the following day. We knew the risks but it was his only hope. The operation seemed to go well but the following day Pete had a massive bleed, putting him into a coma. Sadly he died a week later, leaving me and the rest of the family utterly devastated by his sudden demise.
The funeral and following weeks went by in a blur. He was sixty and I just couldn’t believe he was gone but when it came to the reading of the will, it turned out Pete had played a joke on me from beyond the grave. As a keen golfer he’d often tried to get me to take up the sport but it never appealed to me and anyway I was not going to give him the satisfaction of having yet another thing he’d be better than me at.
When told I’d been left all his golf gear I had to laugh, he must have known I’d feel duty bound to at least give it a try. We were of the same height and build so it was no surprise to find his golf shoes fitted me but the amazing thing was my feet had never felt so comfortable in a pair of shoes. Thinking they fitted like kid gloves, for some reason the term ‘footjoy’ came into my head, describing how my feet were feeling. Pete must have been looking down from heaven’s fairways, chuckling away to himself.
I booked a round with a friend who played at Singing Hills, the local club and surprised myself by driving the ball over two hundred yards. Then I heard Pete’s voice, “Not bad for a first shot.” The second strike however was a different story, an iron shot which went straight into the bushes. Again I heard his voice, giving me advice, “keep that left arm straight next time.” So it went on, Pete giving me feedback and guiding me as I played the course. It was all a bit strange and yet also comforting to have the connection with him.
I became hooked on the game and it was only later that I realised the logo on my golf shoes FJ stood for FootJoy.