Braiden and Habib - Part 2

Time to continue the story. If you didn't read part 1, you can find it here: Once Upon a Time

“Enhaviv, it’s great to see you,” said Coach Singleton as he outstretched his hand.

“You as well Mr. Singleton” I responded and consciously thought about gripping his hand with the proper firmness to seem confident.

“Please, don’t call me Mr. Singleton, call me Coach.” He corrected me with a smile.

Mr. Singleton had long been a member at Willowing Hills Golf Club where I work as a golf teaching assistant and for the last three years had coached the varsity boys golf team at Saint Peter of the Cross High School. They had developed quite a reputation in the state for such a small private school, partly because they had golf teams starting in the late elementary years.

“So, you’re interested in helping out with the program…” Mr. Singleton began, ushering us straight to business.

“Yeah, I heard there is an opening for the junior high golf coach and was hoping I would be a good fit to fill that role.” I began, hoping this would start a conversation. Instead, I looked up to find Mr. Singleton staring back at me with his brow slightly creased, expecting me to continue.

“I have considerable experience teaching golf to junior high aged youth, have coached many students through individual Junior Golf tournaments and have great access to teaching tools and locations through the club.

“It isn’t your experience that I question, I’ve seen you at the range, you are a great teacher.” He said leaning in.

His presence was ominous, being six foot five, even when he leaned forward my eyes met his hardened chin by nature, and the slight tilt upwards of my neck helped me to realize the stature difference we brought into the room.

“It’s well, you realize this is a private school right? I mean, this is a Catholic private school.”

He knew full well that I understood what kind of school this was. He hadn’t said this to inform me, but to question if I belong.

“I imagine there aren’t many students with the name Enhaviv here are there?” I mumbled hoping to lighten the mood. “I’m here because I already have good relationships with many of the students that attend this school, feel comfortable coaching them, and would love to be involved in the improvement of their golf games. I believe I can do this without my being Middle Eastern causing a problem.”

“I don’t think that you will cause the problem. Likely not even the students, they seem more comfortable with diversity than anyone else I know. But, the parents. I don’t know what the parents will think.”

We continued our conversation for another twenty minutes or so, discussing the expectations of the position, the time commitments, the travel schedule, and the size of the squad. But as we both left, we knew that the only inhibiting factor may be that I look different than the rest of the people here, and that I won’t be found at any of their Sunday Morning Mass celebrations.

I opened the door and walked down the empty school hallway, hearing my dress shoes click with each step, and squeak on every fifth step or so, I realized how alone I was.

“Habib?” came echoing down the corridor

“Mr. Stradquist, how is school today?” I said to Braiden. At the club we don’t use first names to the members, until they ask us to. I felt smaller now having to call an eleven year old Mr.

“It’s fine, but I’d rather be on the range with you.”

He had continued his lessons for the last week and a half and seemed more comfortable with the game of golf now.

“I believe our next lesson is Thursday right?” I asked, making small talk.

“Yeah, do you think we can hit the driver then?” He asked eagerly.

“I’ll do you one better. If you hit the 7-iron well, we will both hit the driver, and we will play a couple of holes.”

I knew this would entice him as I had not allowed him to do anything but hit the 7-iron and putt so far.

“I can’t wait.” He shouted as he ran towards the other end of the hallway “See you t-h—e---r----e.”