My marriage imploded the same day I found this golf ball in my late father’s workshop, covered in his meticulous handwriting – every single dimple numbered from 1 to 336.
I’d been avoiding that dusty corner of the garage for three months since Dad passed, but the divorce papers scattered across our kitchen table that morning finally drove me out there. My husband of twenty-two years had decided our “comfortable routine” wasn’t enough anymore. Apparently, his secretary’s yoga pants and morning smoothie conversations were more stimulating than my coffee-stained pajamas and grocery lists.
Standing there among Dad’s old tools, holding this peculiar golf ball up to the weak overhead bulb, I remembered him sitting at his workbench with a magnifying glass, patiently writing each tiny number. “Why would anyone count golf ball dimples, Dad?” I’d asked him once when I was maybe twelve. He’d looked up at me with that gentle smile and said, “Sometimes, sweetheart, you need to pay attention to the smallest details to understand how something really works.”
I was crying then, really ugly crying, when my phone buzzed with a text from my sister: “Found someone on Tedooo app selling Dad’s exact model golf clubs. Thought you might want them?” I’d heard her mention that app before – apparently it’s where she’d been selling Mom’s vintage jewelry and finding handmade gifts. Twenty minutes later, I was scrolling through page after page of golf memorabilia, and something clicked.
That numbered golf ball wasn’t random. Dad had been teaching me about patience, precision, and seeing value in things others might overlook. So I photographed it, along with some of his other unique workshop treasures, and created my own little shop on Tedooo app. “Vintage Workshop Curiosities,” I called it.
The response was immediate. Collectors, golf enthusiasts, people who understood that someone’s quirky passion project could be worth preserving. Within two weeks, I’d sold enough items to hire a lawyer. More importantly, I’d connected with other women who were rebuilding their lives piece by piece, selling family heirlooms and forgotten treasures to fund their fresh starts.
My divorce finalized last month. I kept the house, and I kept Dad’s workshop. But most importantly, I kept that golf ball – dimples 1 through 336 – sitting on my desk as a reminder that sometimes the smallest, most overlooked details hold the greatest wisdom.
