I took my six-year-old niece miniature golfing during school break. My childhood memories of miniature golf are conflicted: It’s one of those activities that always looks like it will be fun (all those turrets and railroad cars and gnarled fake trees with moving trap doors), but I’ve always been been bad at it, and having the worst score in the group was painful for a high achiever like me.
The attendant handed us our mini-clubs, balls and a scorecard. I asked my niece whether she or I should be the scorekeeper.
“Let’s not keep score,” she said.
Wait—was this even an option? Since it was her date with Aunt Janet, I let her set the rules. No scorecard.
We ambled along, taking as many strokes as we needed to get the ball through moving doors, up anthills, and into 18 holes. We helped each other out, standing in front of water traps so the other person’s ball wouldn’t go too far astray.
Miniature golf is a lot more fun when you don’t keep score.
Where else am I keeping score, when I don’t need to be?