Some moments— unrehearsed, unexpected, perhaps even unintended, become magical— capturing a feeling, releasing an emotion, finding a destiny, taking on a significance beyond the moment itself.
Another Masters Golf Tournament has come and gone, now embedded two weeks in history. But Phil Mickelson’s victory will endure as much as for what he did for his wife as for his brilliant performance on the golf course. It was after he won the championship that he seized the moment, and made it magical.
When Mickelson arrived at his rented home near the golf course in Augusta, Ga., the week of the tournament, he was alone. Not only had he not won a championship since 2003, but his family had not been able to join him on the tour for the past 11 months. Then two days into the week, they surprised him. For the first time since last year’s Players’ Championship, when his wife Amy first learned she had breast cancer, Mickelson’s family was able to join him for a tournament. “To have Amy and my kids here to share it with, I can’t put into words,” Mickelson said. “It just feels incredible, especially given what we’ve been through. To be able to share this kind of joy means a lot to us.”
But that moment when Mickelson’s family arrived, as encouraging as it must have been, was not the magical moment. They had done something special for him; now he was to do something extraordinary for someone else. And who could be more important than his wife, Amy, still battling cancer and struggling with the effects of medication? But it would not be a planned moment, intended to catch the attention of the public; it would be a spontaneous expression of love between a husband and a wife. Like any true magical moment, it was not on the program; it was unscripted.
It happened before Mickelson donned the green jacket, reserved for the Masters champion, before he was congratulated, interviewed and trophied. It happened while he was still on the golf course. Moments after he clinched the championship with a birdie putt on the 18th hole, Mickelson walked to Amy, and with tears in his eyes, embraced her, paused for a second, and kissed her. All that was missing was the Drifters singing in the background, “This magic moment/While your lips are close to mine/Will last forever/Forever til the end of time.” But the Drifters were unnecessary; the moment was magical without the music. Mickelson would later choke back tears as he spoke about Amy, “We’ve been through a lot this year. And it means a lot to share some joy together. She’s an incredible wife, an incredible mother and she’s been an inspiration to me, going through what’s she’s been through.”
With all the media attention on Larry King’s and Shawn Southwick’s divorce (Did they have a pre-nup? Do we care?), Jesse James’ infidelity to Sandra Bullock, John Edwards’ relationship with his mistress, Reille Hunter, by whom he has fathered a child, and Tiger Wood’s sex addiction—it is refreshing to see a husband kiss and embrace his own wife in a public place and by so doing affirm his loyalty and her personhood in the midst of her life threatening illness.
The truth is, the magical moment didn’t really happen on the 18th green: it happened when Amy was sick from chemo, and he didn’t cut and run; it happened when she couldn’t be there for him, and he was there for her; it happened when she was afraid, and he stood strong.
Magical moments become magical because someone was real when no one was looking, when no trophies were given, when no crowd was applauding. Magical moments are magical only because someone mastered the ordinary moment, giving it to someone else, believing it for all it can be, embracing it for what it is— commonplace, familiar, normal. And in the mundaneness of that moment, magic sparks fly.
Life Matters, by David B. Whitlock, Ph.D., is published weekly. You can visit Dr.Whitlock’s website, www.davidwhitlock.org. His email address is drdavid@davidwhitlock.org