One of the fondest memories I have of my four years at New Paltz College is playing golf with my dad. He'd usually show up on a Friday afternoon after a 90-minute drive up from Long Island. New Paltz is known for its art and teaching programs, and as you might expect, the campus (and town) were extremely liberal. As a student who switched from the BFA program on the heels of my Adobe Flash work here on Newgrounds to an English major, New Paltz was a kaleidoscopic and anachronistic campus ... quads dominated by bare-footed hippies playing croquet while the odd pack of engineering students veered cautiously along the outskirts ... there was never a dull moment. As much as I enjoyed New Paltz for the endless "islands" I could land on, my dad popping out of the Toyota minivan in a fresh-pressed polo, khaki pants, and a gleaming set of Ben Hogan irons was always a reassuring sight.

To be honest, my four years at New Paltz were punctuated by two different long-term relationships that took up most of my social life. I originally walked on to the men's volleyball team as a freshman, but quickly realized a 6-foot frame was much too short for college ball. The decision to leave the team took me away from having that solid group of guys I could do guy stuff with, and I suppose I never got around to fixing that, in large part because I knew my dad could pop up for a beer, a cigar, and quick nine holes of golf every few weeks. The man taught me everything I knew about the game, and the local New Paltz Golf Course was the perfect venue to grow my game with my dad at my side.

The course, while never in immaculate condition, was a gorgeous parkland nine-hole design which sat at the base of the Shawanagunk Mountains alongside the Wallkill River. Deer, hawks, squirrels, and foxes were all common sights on the fairways, and we'd almost always manage to go out as a twosome late in the afternoon. Between good shots, bad shots, and discussions on my most recent coursework, we often stopped to admire the wild beauty of the course. Our favorite spot was the tee box of hole number seven, a short, downhill par four. With the mountains in the distance, there was nothing like the view of a perfect drive on number seven. The tee box was carved into a chute in the woods, and the sound of the driver launching the golf ball echoed magnificently.

This acrylic painting is actually the second rendition of the seventh hole at New Paltz Golf Course. I gave the first to my dad this past Father's Day. When he unwrapped the canvas and immediately said, "I know this hole!" I couldn't help but smile and think back to all those great times we had together.