James

by Seve Mustone

We are tremendously thankful to Seve Mustone for joining us and playing in the Tournament. Seve was just six years old when he met James at Wollaston who was sixteen at the time. As did James, Seve, went to Dexter and followed on to St. Sebastian’s. Seve’s thoughts, his words, his memory of James, he shared with players and guests at the Tournament from his paper and poem within The Freshman Voices publication of St. Sebastian’s.

The memorial golf tournament ended, and my father and I passed by the table at the exit. I saw a sign that told visitors they could take anything in the basket.  In the basket was all of the things James McDonough parents’ thought others might want.  There were golf balls, hats, and other things, but what caught my eyes was the golf glove.  It was a white golf glove sitting atop the pile.  I told my dad I dropped my phone, and turned around.  I pretended to grab something from the floor, but in a fluid motion, I grabbed the glove from the pile and put it in my pocket.

Now that glove rests on the shelves in my room.  It sits there inside a handkerchief, wrapped like a baby in swaddling clothes.  I don’t know why I hid it.  It wouldn’t be disrespectful if anyone found out I had taken it from the basket.  Either way, nobody knew.  I think I did it just on a whim.  I wanted to have a part of James always with me, and I didn’t want anyone to know about it.  It was our secret.

My parents told me at the wake that James and I were strikingly similar.  Our baby pictures could be easily confused, and our life paths were uncannily alike. We were avid golfers. We had no brothers or sisters. Finally, we both went to Dexter, and then attended St. Sebastian’s school.

I would always see James walking around Wollaston, looking for anyone to play golf with.  My father would either volunteer to play with him, or tell me to go over and shake his hand.  I never really told anyone this, but James was my role model.  He seemed like such a cool guy.  He was a great golfer, he had plenty of friends, and he had this…. this thing…that made you desire to be friends with him.  But I was too shy.  Instead, I watched from the shadows.  After I watched him, all I wanted to do was do was something, anything, to make me better.

One time my father, James, and I were all playing golf.  I was in the cart with James while my father walked the course carrying his own bag.  James tried to talk with me while we drove the cart.  At first I was shy.  If he asked me a question, I would answer it with as few words as possible.  But then I opened up.  I started asking him questions about everything from his school to his favorite brand of golf gear.  That struck me.  He had the ability to open me up through his kindness and loving aura that surrounded him.  The next thing that stayed with me was his patience.  His countenance wouldn’t change even if I whiffed the ball ten times. He would just patiently wait and offer kind advice.

So there the glove will always sit.  Alone on a shelf top.  But it will only be physically alone.  With it spiritually will be the guidance that James has given me through a simple question.  “What would James do?”

Something You Love
by Seve Mustone

Holding something you love
A number or something from your childhood
It makes you feel as if it came from above
As if it brings up your spirits, as it very well should

So sing to me of familiarity
Of something so close to you
There seems to be no similarity
To anything else that you knew

To have that torn away
Making your heart turn to gray
Making your mind close out any possible ray
Of hopeful sunshine

But remember in time
That your feelings will climb
And accept something like that again
Making you wish to keep it arcane

Holding something you love
A number or something from your childhood
It makes you feel as if it came from above
As if it brings up your spirits, as it very well should