By J. Irving

14 July 2026 will forever have a special place in my memory. At the age of seventy, I finally checked off something that had been sitting quietly on my bucket list for years—I made my very first hole-in-one.

Some golfers may raise an eyebrow because it happened on a pitch-and-putt course, where every hole is a par three ranging from 65 to 125 yards. But to me, a hole-in-one is a hole-in-one. The ball left my club, landed on the green, and ended up in the cup with just one stroke. Even my son, Kevin, settled the matter with a smile: “Daddy, you can cross that off your bucket list.”

It happened on a Tuesday, my day off from my apostolic duties. Tuesdays and Thursdays are the days when Blue and I are excused from babysitting our grandson, Tobi, because he attends daycare. That gave me a free morning.

At around nine o’clock, I left the house and walked the two-and-a-half kilometres to Central Park in Burnaby, the city beside Vancouver. I traveled light—a single Cobra-XL 7-iron and four well-used golf balls in my pocket. Nothing suggested that the day would become unforgettable.

Then came Hole No. 3, a 105-yard par three.

I gripped my 7-iron about an inch lower on the handle, took a relaxed swing, and struck my Titleist No. 3 ball. The shot felt pure. The ball flew straight, landed softly on the green, rolled toward the flag… and disappeared.

My first thought? It must have rolled over the back of the green.

Without giving it much thought, I teed up another ball and played on. This one finished on the right side fringe. I walked to it, chipped toward the hole, left it short, and casually tapped it into the cup with a backhanded stroke using the same club.

Then I started looking for my first ball.

I searched around the back of the green.

Nothing.

I checked the rough.

Still nothing.

For about three minutes I wandered around, refusing to believe I had lost it. There was no one behind me, so I kept searching.

Finally, I walked over to retrieve the ball I had just tapped into the hole.

As I looked down into the cup, I froze.

There weren’t one…

There were two golf balls.

For a moment I simply stared.

Then it hit me.

Hole-in-one!

I laughed out loud. There was no gallery to cheer, no playing partners, nor a caddy, to witness it, no applause—just me, the quiet golf course, and one unforgettable surprise waiting at the bottom of the cup.

Of course, I immediately texted our family group chat, Team Lomeda, proudly announcing that I had just made a hole-in-one.

Two days later, on my next day off, I returned to the course. After paying the senior’s green fee of $12, I happily told the gentleman at the cashier’s window what had happened on Hole No. 3.

Without hesitation, he broke into a smile, raised his fist for a celebratory bump, then reached into a jar and handed me my “official prize”—

one piece of Werther’s Original caramel candy.

I laughed. No trophy. No plaque. No newspaper headline.

Just a fist bump, a caramel candy, and a memory that I will treasure for the rest of my life.

Sometimes life’s sweetest victories are celebrated not with champagne, but with a piece of candy—and the quiet satisfaction of knowing that, even at seventy, wonderful surprises can still find their way into your day …