Andrew Perkins smiled and said: "I see you brought your ringer."

I've never thought of brother Bob as a ringer, but I sure hoped he would be one last Saturday at the SummerFest Golf Scramble.

As some of you know, I started taking spinal decompression treatments in April to correct some problems that accumulated over the years from farm work, yard work and, probably, golf.

Saturday would be my first time swinging the clubs without a back brace since last summer. I knew my drives would go about 150 yards, at best. I'd have to swing an 8-iron to cover 100 yards.

I didn't want to leave teammates Harlan Beagley and Tom Hinde without a chance to compete. So I called Bob in Spokane.

I know Bob is a player. We've tried to beat each other's brains out on the course nearly all of our lives.

Bob had a few weird shots Saturday but, overall, did what we expected. He won the long drive with a blast on No. 14 that flew about 300 yards.

Bob's drive on the 316-yard 8th hole finished in the fringe, about 40 feet from the hole. His best shot of the day was an approach at No. 6 that stopped eight feet from the hole.

It made me think back to the beginning. I was 14, Bob was 8. We had a brother in between, 11-year-old Richard. We spent a lot years wondering if we'd ever hit a golf ball right.

It took many years to get to single-digit handicaps. As kids we didn't have the money for golf. We didn't even know what the term "private lesson" meant.

We were introduced to golf by our father, sort of, in 1959. He found some old hickory-shafted clubs and smiling gutta-percha balls in a trash can in Sunnyside.

No matter how hard we swung, the ball wouldn't go much more than 100 yards. We know now we probably had a wedge and a 9-iron.

We carved out a 4-hole course in the horse riding arena that adjoined our property and went around and around proudly recording 10s, 9s and 8s. There wasn't a single putt that was straight or level.

I don't know when Bob finally learned how to hit a ball. I did when I was 28.

I learned from a book by Lee Trevino. I must have looked funny on the driving range with a hanky tucked under my right elbow.

Still it took a long time to reach a single-digit handicap. I shot my lowest score ever - 69 - when I was 48. Bob's lowest score ever - 65 - was accomplished when he was 38.

It was fun getting to that level of golf, but we recommend the easy way.

Take lessons.