I am serious when I say there are merits to playing hooky.

Fact is, in my high school "daze" , I was considered a semi-pro at playing hooky.

Being an adult has put a dent in the ol' hooky machine, but every now and then I can still answer the call to... not answer the call. If you know what I mean.

In the act of running from responsiblity, one feels young, foolish, Superbad-ish. It's an instant discovery of the fountain of youth without having to have an unpronouncable name like Ponce de Leon.

It's fun to sneak off without the ever present cell phone (go ahead, be unreachable you rebel) and not give a second thought to it. In fact, the absence of interruption suspends time. The afternoon lolls about and lingers in the breeze, just like a spring day should.

I am playing hooky tomorrow. Golfing.

It's our secret.

No cell phones, no email, nothing, just me and eighteen holes of green grass and hopefully no sand.

I'll witness several hawks in flight, maybe even a deer or two (grabbing the tender buds while they can) and feel the sunshine on my shoulders.

Sure, I'll feel a slight twinge of guilt about all that wasn't done while I duffed about, but it will be greatly diminished by the smile my spirit will crack when I remember the slammin' drive and perfect putt I'm hoping I'll have. Then again, I may play a horrendous round, three and four putting, hitting all my shots fat as Trump's bank account.

The beautiful truth is, it won't matter, because the fact that I'm playing hooky adds such disobedient delight to the whole shootin' match.

Funny thing , I can't really remember what I did when I played hooky from school. I just know it was about having a break.

We all need a break.

Maybe tomorrow, I'll break a hundred.

...