In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “My Hero.”
When I was 15, I was paired up with a random group on the golf course; one of the three gentlemen introduced himself as Kirk Campbell. Recently retired and working on a startup beverage company, he was a fun person, with a strong personality, and a good golfer. Over the course of a year, we became great friends; in time, he became the father I never had. After he moved to Texas, we still kept in close touch, until one day, I called, and it went immediately to voicemail. There wasn’t a single ring. I continued to try to call him at least four times a day, even while the rest of my family was grieving the loss of my biological father. Six weeks later, I was on the golf course and approached by a mutual friend of mine and Kirk’s. It was an unsettling way to find out my mentor had died in his sleep, ten days before my biological father had also died. To this day, I miss Kirk, and regret never getting to say goodbye, more than I do my own blood parent. He’s the reason I became a professional golfer, the reason I had the confidence to leave school and pursuit my dreams, and was my number one support. That’s why he will always be my hero.
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