What My Parents Want Me To Be When I Grow Up

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I've heard a lot of stories from my friends about being pressured into lifestyles not of their choosing. In some cases their parents want their offspring to carry on a family tradition, like being a lawyer or a musician. Other friends are expected to exceed their heritage by becoming doctors or CEOs. To all of those people who either sympathise with these young adults or who are in fact among their number, I laugh at your petty concerns. You don't know what pressure is, until you have suffered from the tremendous burden of expectations that golfing parents inflict on their sons and daughters.

Yes, yes, I know there are cases of children happily following in the footsteps of their club wielding progenitors. However, in every one of these cases the children have been bombarded with the golfing ethos, virtually from birth. These cases are no more representative of independent will than are those poor folk from Jones Town. When a person is so effectively brain washed that his or her will becomes subservient to another's, then "it" can no longer be considered sentient.

As horrific as these cases may be, it is worse still to be exposed to this virulent code later in life. A teenager may have just enough defences available to hold off total mental collapse but not so many as to ever expect the complete routing of the enemy. This sad mixture of strength and weakness ensures a long and torturous battle against a powe...

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... this one feeble protest. Little hope is left to me that things will improve. On the contrary, it seems that there may not be much time left. All my friends now play golf, I have my own clubs and I have sent off the cheque to renew my membership. My only hope now is to somehow lose my job and therefore not have the money to continue playing. But those bastards in government insist on handing out unemployment benefits and I fear that this will be sufficient for me to feed the monkey on my back. Just think of all the free time I would have to play. Oh God!

Please, I beg you all to pray for me, and everyone like me. Oh yes, and pray for my handicap, I have almost lost that cursed asterix off the 27.

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