SERIOUSLY? A COUNTRY CLUB?

---

        Full disclosure? I don't belong to a Country Club. And haven't, as an adult. But growing up Down South, my hometown supported three! And one of those was referred to by every grownup I ever met as The Club.

        A question measuring worthiness ranked among the first three things adults asked up front:

l. What's your name, darlin'?

2. Who's your daddy?

3. Y'all members of The Club?

        When I was in 5th grade, our family joined The Club. My mother delivered the news by explaining our membership didn't make us like the other families--we didn't join because we belonged. We joined, my mother told me, because my dad's business partner was a Member. Since a lot of important businessmen ate lunch there every day, our family had only joined for the good of Dad's business, but we didn't really belong.

        Oh, the irony!

        Joining The Club set me up for a lifetime on the periphery; believing I didn't really belong when I was actually a member. My vantage point became inches from Everything Cool. Or Beautiful People adjacent. Overthink that one. . . Please! Apply that sad-sick internalization to every social group from an invitation to join a service club in high school to holding an elected office on the PTA. Welcome to my life. A stupid-face emoji belongs here.

       But, back to my budding neurosis. . .

       That summer, I rode my bike up to The Club, meeting a friend from school who was also a member. Veronica knew everyone because her father was a doctor. Her family had always belonged. 

        At The Club, girls my age played tennis everyday. They wore skirts instead of shorts. I watched in awe behind the chain link fence, intimidated by their skills, their beauty, and their outfits. I didn't go to the cool public school or the fancy private school these lucky girls attended. My parents punished me with Catholic School. . .in the Bible Belt. I thought my pitch-in-or-do-without Parochial School was the poor school.

        But I was good at sports. How hard could tennis be? I imagined myself walking with the pretty girls, wearing the little skirts, borrowed tennis racket resting on my shoulder, too cool to use the pool. The fantasy faded because tennis was hard. I hit more balls over the fence than over the net. Which meant I practiced at the park, not The Club, where I was too embarrassed to even volley. At twelve, I became a wannabe. On the outside looking in. And I never got to wear those cute clothes.

        Setting scenes in a country club enables me to poke a little fun at my childhood self--though I know my dad was never completely comfortable there either. Maybe that's our baggage--introverted, insecure, idiotic. Maybe not.

        At their core, Clubs, country and otherwise, foster community by bringing together groups of like-minded people. But Exclusive Membership really elevates the notion, doesn't it? Being invited to join or approved for membership makes a person feel special. Honestly, as long as we aren't denied admission, don't we love belonging to a really cool-to-us club? Service Clubs. Supper Clubs. Vacation Clubs. Crafting Clubs. Sam's Club. Even the Mile High Club. # goals.

        The best clubs I ever joined were those formed with childhood friends. Restricting membership to the girls in the neighborhood, we lived by the Golden Rule: No Boys Allowed--especially older brothers. That early exclusivity made me feel safe--as one place my brother wasn't welcome and therefore couldn't ruin by making fun of me. It's a kid concept. It doesn't have to make sense. And it really doesn't, since we never had an actual, physical clubhouse from which to bar my brother's entrance.

        And let's be real, if we did, he and his friends would've barged in, taken our snacks, and kicked us out. Somewhere, he's nodding and laughing. It's okay. We're friends now.

        I think every organization or club experiences conflict and growing pains when leadership changes or membership grows. When enthusiastic new members start challenging old rules, it seems like there's always an Old Guard component of long-time or founding members committed to fighting change. I figure some members must still be trying to fight inclusivity, too.

        What they need to understand is that since Clubs attract like-minded people, then regardless of their race, religion, gender, or politics, new members will have the same basic agenda as the Old Guard.

        At a country club, the driving mission of cultivating, building, or improving social and business relationships is achieved the old-fashioned way. In person. In the modern age of digital social networking, one could consider such pursuits a beautiful tradition.