Author's Note- This little piece of fluff just would not leave me alone. Inspired by the Foxtrot comic strip of 06/26/05.

Don stood beside his father, waiting impatiently as Charlie took his stance over the golf ball. The trio had been out here for nearly forty-five minutes now, and the past fifteen had been spent waiting for Charlie. The sun was shining brightly from it's perch in the clear blue sky, and birds flittered from tree to tree overhead. Off in the distance, the small pond was glistening as a gentle breeze rippled the surface. It was a perfect day for golf.

Unless, you happened to be golfing with your kid brother who couldn't get the hang of the sport to save his life.

Alan nudged his son before Don was even aware he had sighed.


"Give him a chance," Alan admonished quietly. "At least he's trying."

"There is such a thing as trying too hard," Don shot back just as quietly, barely moving his lips. After watching Charlie draw back and swing- only to stop short of actually hitting the ball, Don couldn't hold back any longer. "Come on, Charlie, just hit it! Look, you're slowing down everyone else on the green!"

Charlie looked to where Don was pointing at a group of old men and sighed. "There are different variables for every swing, you know," he said, planting the club on the ground and resting his elbow on the handle. "There's the wind, the incline of the ground, the distance to the hole-"

Don suppressed a child-like groan. "Come on, Chuck, just hit the ball!" Maybe a little teasing would get the job done.

Charlie closed his mouth and did the head-tilt thing that Don hated so much. Then he gripped the club, settled into his stance, pulled back and swung.

"Wow, Charlie, that was amazing!"

"150 yards, straight as an arrow!" Alan chipped in. "Dead center of the green!"

"Three feet from the hole!" Don had his hand over his eyes, squinting against the bright sunlight.

"Too bad it was the club, and not the ball."

Charlie slumped as Don erupted in laughter. "I think I need better grips."