I missed spending time with my adult son, so I hired him as my golf instructor

When my now 23-year-old son returned from college, I noticed he was more independent.

While this is what every parent wants, it also means fewer interactions between us.

He now got up on his own without me knocking on his door, made his own egg sandwiches in the morning, and drove himself everywhere.

I was no longer the alarm clock, the cook, or the chauffeur.

He was planning to move out of our house soon to get his first apartment in Los Angeles and leave behind boring suburbia.

I knew he needed extra cash because he was still looking for a job, and I was desperate to spend some quality time with him.

Then I had an idea. “I need you to teach me golf,” I said one morning. “Are you serious?” he asked. “Yes, and I’ll pay you,” I offered.

My son has been golfing since he was 4.

I wanted him to play a sport where he had less of a chance of getting hurt, and golf was one that he could potentially play well into adulthood.

He took to it and ended up eventually playing on his high school team.

When I pitched the idea of paid lessons, he jumped at the chance, motivated by the need to fill his gas tank.

Plus, my new golf clubs had been sitting in my garage for two years, a gift from my husband one Christmas when we discussed what we would do when we retire.

Being a master negotiator like his dad and a skilled salesman like his stepdad, he locked in a higher rate than I initially offered.

If I were taking lessons from a golf pro, it would cost twice as much, which is not in my budget right now.

I was not about to squabble over a few bucks, since I figured he’d get that money out of me another way anyway.

We worked together to determine a date and time that worked for both of us.

The weekends were best, and I talked him into a 9 a.m. start time, before the Southern California sun tried to burn our scalps off.

At 10:30 a.m. on our agreed-upon day, he sleepily carried my clubs and loaded them into my SUV, and we were on our way.

During the first lesson, he explained what each club did.

Then we covered my grip and stance and moved on to the complicated swing. “You have to keep your arm straight and loosen your hands,” he said more than once.

I also had to, “Choke up, keep my eye on the ball, bend my knees, graze the grass, and not hit it so hard!

It should feel effortless!” he said.

I was used to a bat as a softball player.

With all the tips and corrections he gave, I started to love every minute of our lesson.

Not because I was learning golf, but because I was learning more about my son.

He was patient and so knowledgeable.

He also noticed every tiny thing I did wrong and explained it to me clearly until he couldn’t, like when I asked him to show me what I did wrong after the ball went in a completely different direction than intended. “Mom, I can’t even describe how bad that shot was.

Let’s just move on and try it again.” That made us both laugh.

After the lesson, he carried my clubs to the car as if he were my caddy. “That was really fun,” he said. “Should we go to brunch?” he asked, surprising me.

I already had a bagel for breakfast that morning, but I jumped at the chance to spend more time with him.

Over eggs Benedict, we talked about the résumés he had sent out, when his girlfriend was moving to California, and when our next lesson would be.

For our first lesson, we spent three hours together.

I can’t remember the last time that happened.

I took out my phone, transferred the money to his account, and felt like our day was a hole-in-one.

We had weekly lessons until he moved out of our house a few months later.

We plan to start up again once the weather cools down where we live.

Of course, I’ll have to pay extra for gas now that he has to drive to me.

But I don’t mind, the time we get to spend together is priceless.