Some of my earliest memories include crawling around the practice putting greens at Seneca Falls Country Club in Upstate New York. I loved the feel of those putting greens. Smooth and cool to the touch. I’d roll golf balls into the cups to hear that satisfying ‘plop’ sound.

My parents, Stewart and Emily Cudworth, loved golfing, and my father once planted a grove of pine saplings that came to be named after him at that golf course. We moved near to the Meadia Heights Country Club in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, when I was five years old. Our family could never afford to be members there, but we had an associate membership to swim in the pool. That was good enough for me.

Yet my parents kept taking us to local public courses. We practiced golf shots in the flat side yard that was once a tennis court, and the Meadia Heights driving range wasn’t even a block away between two neighbors’ houses. That gave us free access to chip and drive range balls back toward the practice tee.

On rainy days, I’d grab a three-wood, 7-iron, and putter, some tees, and three golf balls to play the holes farthest from the Meadia Heights clubhouse. While I could possibly have been struck dead by lightning while golfing in the rain, a lightning bolt would have had to keep up with me, because I wasted no time teeing up, running from shot to shot, and putting out each hole.

Memories of those solo rounds stuck with me over the years, as I treated that country club like it was my private course. By the time I was in my teens, I played golf with friends, sometimes spending the entire day on the course playing 36 holes or more. My father built a hobby business around building golf clubs. He made me a set of clubs using Golfsmith supplies. In the early 2000s, I won a set of newer clubs during a golf outing, but I kept the Golfsmith putter because it had sentimental value to me.

Sadly, my father had a devastating stroke in 2003 that disabled his entire right side. His golfing career was over except for riding around his favorite public course with the club pro, who appreciated my father’s love for the game.

I don’t know how many rounds I’ve played using that Golfsmith putter, but the wear on its neck testifies to how many times I’ve shoved it back in the bag and used it to finish every hole. It’s an ancient putter by modern technology standards, and I’ll confess that while playing rounds using top-level Callaway rental clubs at Florida’s Southern Hills course while visiting my brother-in-law that the high-tech putter in that set feels pretty damned good in my hands.

Up till now, I hadn’t thought about quitting the Golfsmith putter. But my stepchildren bought me a new Ping putter for Christmas. I happened to purchase a practice golf mat for my stepson, and we took turns using the new Ping putter. It has a sure feel, and I’m sinking lots of 10-foot putts.

I’m not a Luddite when it comes to advanced golf technology or using newer equipment. I love my big old driver head even though I don’t care for John Daly, the player who endorsed the club. I’ve also actively embraced metal woods, and my two “rescue clubs” make a positive difference in my game. While newer clubs offer a steadier, more predictable shotmaking experience, you still have to swing the clubs. I don’t believe that the clubs make the golfer. It’s rather the other way around .

The last round I shot before winter saw a legitimate 83 on the scorecard. That’s about as good as I get. I’m happy enough to get out golfing, and perhaps I’ll work at it a little more, but maybe not.

I know that my father would appreciate the new Ping in my golf bag. There’s no real use lingering in the past when there’s fun to be had trying new things. It takes the Right Kind of Pride to be willing to change.

Christopher Cudworth is the author of the golf-themed book Nature Is Our Country Club: How Golf Explains Sustainability In a Changing World.