What are your plans for Masters Sunday? A watch party with friends and neighbors? A reservation for one at the comfiest corner of the couch? Or maybe you’re the lucky owner of a final round badge and you’ll witness history in person. It’s only appropriate that the tournament deemed “a tradition unlike any other” has made golf fans, casual and diehard, create their own traditions for the best day on the golf calendar.

My usual plans aren’t special or grand in any way. I clear the schedule as much as possible. Errands, house projects, and chores are wrapped up well before the leaders drive down Magnolia Lane. Prior to parental obligations, a quick morning round before settling in for the broadcast was the norm. Post-kids, I savor the quiet time of their early afternoon naps to catch up on anything I missed and lock in while the final groups make the turn. The last holes of the tournament have been family affairs in recent years. As our kids have gotten older, Augusta National’s beauty has magically started to hold their attention. There’s nothing very unique about my plans, but Masters Sunday has always been one of my favorites of the year.

This year, though, things will look a little different. Back in August, I was dutifully going through my kids’ school schedule. Holidays, conferences, and their many, many random Fridays off were all added to the family calendar. Then I saw it. The second Sunday of April. First Communion.

My first thoughts were that it must be a mistake. Of all the Sundays in Spring, they surely didn’t choose that one. A quick call to the school office confirmed it was no mistake. My daughter and the rest of her second grade class would be celebrating their first Communion at 1:00 on April 14th.

The first stage of grief is denial, and that’s exactly where I went. I shoved my misfortune to the back of my brain. There was no reason to stew over it for months. Even less of a reason to share the news with my husband. Ignorance is bliss, as they say, so I didn’t think about it for the rest of the year.

In the past couple of months, I’ve managed to find my way to the final stage of grief, acceptance. Please hold your applause for my bravery and courage. When you realize you’re 100% stuck, there’s not much else to do but take your lumps and make the most of it.

I’m not proud of it, but breaking the news to my husband and friends did bring me some comfort. Misery loves company, after all. I told my husband about a month ago. He obviously knew our daughter’s first Communion was coming up, but hadn’t connected the dots just yet. He went through all five stages of grief in about eight seconds. “No way. $@*%)!. Is there another one she can go to? This is the worst. I’m going to watch it on my phone during Mass.”

Telling my friends was equally as amusing. Their dismayed reactions quickly moved to dread as they calculated how to break the news to their husbands. This was immediately followed by thanking me profusely for spreading the word and buying them some time. Ignorance isn’t bliss forever. At that point, knowledge was power.

Lemonade will be made from the lemons of this scheduling conflict. There will still be plenty of chances to watch the action from Augusta on Sunday. We’ll be able to tune in for the whole morning. During Mass, I can check my phone if the leaderboard is especially tight. I’ll follow up my prayers of thanksgiving for my daughter’s big day with prayers of thanksgiving for IBM’s creation of The Masters app. Afterwards, we can catch the tail end of the tournament during the party we’re hosting for family and friends.

All joking aside, I’m very much looking forward to Sunday. It’s a milestone for my daughter and a day she’ll remember forever. Yes, it’ll be different, but different doesn’t mean worse. Annually one of my favorite days, it will be even more special this year. My daughter is slowly getting interested in golf and will be glued to the TV in between bites of cake.

But if this happens again next year for my son’s first Communion, I’ll be ringing up the Archbishop.

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