With my own father, I remember so clearly a moment in 1986, when he called me into the master bedroom where the final round of the Masters played on the television. It was the day before his fortieth birthday, I realized years later. I didn’t know then what that meant, but I do now—how a man is forced to examine his life and make an accounting of everything he wanted to be and everything he has actually become, to sort out dreams from failures, and to realize for the first time that the road he is on is the only road he’ll ever travel.
