Every August when I would visit my mother (second from the right in the photograph above) down in Stuart, Florida, we would play golf on the nine hole course that winds through the complex. One year, unbeknownst to me, the course rules were changed, and men were now required to wear shirts with collars while playing golf. I will forever remember the day that I was playing on the course in a T-shirt and was hunted down by Mr. Gagliardi, the volunteer course monitor, driving his golf cart 90 miles an hour down the fairway, headed right at me. Gagliardi was furious, and unceremoniously threw me off the course. The following year I did venture out on the course again (wearing the proper attire, of course), but never fully got over the trauma. Even today I break out in a cold sweat when I don a T-shirt to wear while bicycling. Nothing a few decades of psychotherapy won't cure, I'm sure.
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