Crackerjax

As the kids get older, I'm beginning to realize that on vacations (like many other things in life) the adage that if ain't broke don't fix it applies. The boys love putt-putt golf and there's a spot we found in far north Scottsdale called Crackerjax that they couldn't get enough of. I think we went at least three times in six days and I don't believe they would've said no if we offered it up every day.

I'm sure that in its heyday Crackerjax was a shining beacon of contemporary miniature golf technology. While it lacks the massive infrastructure commitments of waterfalls and (what I thought was mandatory) windmill, it still combines three long courses with a reasonable amount of challenge, if not ingenuity. But however many years hence, it is now a dilapidated, sunwashed shell of its former self, the turf threadbare and hole numbers barely visible on the blanched concrete. The place is a tiny piece of Americana, the kind that Richard Ford might make part of a small scene if he ever went west of New Jersey.

For Ben and Zach, though, it was just fun in the sun. Starting with the monumental decision of which color ball to choose (this task was not taken lightly) to who would go first on each hole, they just liked being out there. And I liked being out there with them. Zach's frequent technique of just dragging the ball into the hole with his club might raise some eyebrows among the officiating committee, as would his mendacious claims over the occasional "hole in one" (Ben engaged in some highly creative mathematics as well). But who cares. 70 and sunny. Outside. Kids laughing. I'd take it every day, too.