Nancy Lopez has always been a role model of mine... so to have

Host: The sun hung low over the green horizon, spilling gold across the golf course like a final blessing of daylight. A soft wind carried the smell of grass and dust, mingling with the distant laughter of players finishing their rounds. Jeeny stood near the edge of the fairway, her hands wrapped around a cup of coffee, her eyes tracking the sway of the flag in the breeze. Jack leaned against a wooden fence, a towel slung over his shoulder, his grey eyes reflecting the sun’s fire as if challenging it not to fade.

Jeeny: “Do you know what Natalie Gulbis once said?”

Jack: “I can’t say I’ve kept up with the golf world, Jeeny.”

Jeeny: “She said, ‘Nancy Lopez has always been a role model of mine... so to have the opportunity to play for her and spend time with her has been amazing.’ Isn’t that beautiful?”

Host: A pause lingered — the kind that ripples with unspoken thought. The wind pressed against Jack’s shirt, while the light dimmed, turning gold into amber.

Jack: “Beautiful, maybe. But also... naive. Role models are just people, Jeeny. They crack like everyone else. Put them on a pedestal, and sooner or later, they’ll fall.”

Jeeny: “You think admiration is foolish?”

Jack: “I think it’s dangerous. We spend so much energy worshiping others that we forget to build ourselves. It’s like living through a reflection instead of a mirror.”

Jeeny: “But a reflection can inspire, Jack. It can show you what’s possible. Nancy Lopez didn’t just play golf; she opened doors. When Gulbis looked at her, she didn’t see an idol — she saw a pathway.”

Host: The sunlight began to fade, scattering orange dust across the grass. Jack’s jaw tightened, a small muscle twitching as though restraining something deeper than words.

Jack: “A pathway, sure. But you forget — those paths are rarely clean. Behind every hero is a shadow you never see. Maybe Gulbis saw Lopez’s grace, but did she see her loneliness? Her sacrifices? How many hours of practice turned into numb hands and missed childhoods?”

Jeeny: “And yet, those sacrifices are what make her a role model. Not the perfection, Jack, but the endurance. To be admired is not to be flawless, it’s to have walked through the fire and still have the courage to smile.”

Host: The air thickened with emotion, like the humidity before a storm. The sound of a golf ball being struck echoed in the distance, a clean snap against the silence between them.

Jack: “So what? You’re saying we should just ignore their failures? Pretend they’re not human?”

Jeeny: “No, I’m saying we should honor their humanity. You look for flaws like a detective, Jack, but what if the beauty lies in their imperfections? Think of Nelson Mandela. He wasn’t perfect. He had his anger, his regrets — but people still looked to him because he stood up when it mattered.”

Jack: “Mandela changed the world, Jeeny. That’s a little different than playing golf.”

Jeeny: “It’s not about scale, it’s about spirit. A role model doesn’t have to change the world — just the world of one person. Sometimes, seeing someone fight with grace in a small arena teaches more than a revolution ever could.”

Host: A gust of wind caught Jeeny’s hair, sweeping it across her face. She brushed it aside, her eyes glinting with a mix of tenderness and defiance. Jack exhaled slowly, his breath visible in the cooling air.

Jack: “You talk about grace as if it’s some kind of armor. But I’ve seen what happens when people worship their mentors. They lose themselves trying to become them. Remember that tennis prodigy, Jennifer Capriati? Everyone called her the next Graf — until the pressure broke her. Fame, expectation, idolatry — it’s all a kind of poison, Jeeny.”

Jeeny: “And yet she came back, Jack. That’s what you forget. After all the chaos, she returned, she fought, she won again. The human spirit isn’t just about resisting the poison — it’s about transforming it.”

Host: The sky darkened. A flock of birds sliced through the last light, their wings catching the sun for a moment, then vanishing into the shadowed horizon. The course grew quiet, save for the whisper of the wind and the soft rustle of grass.

Jack: “You make it sound so romantic. But most people don’t come back. Most people just break.”

Jeeny: “Maybe. But it’s the few who do that keep the rest of us believing. That’s why role models matter, Jack. Because they remind us that redemption exists — even if it’s rare. They tell us it’s worth trying.”

Host: Silence hung between them again. The first stars began to appear, small and tentative, like questions waiting to be answered.

Jack: “Belief,” he said softly. “That’s what it always comes down to with you, doesn’t it?”

Jeeny: “And you, Jack — it always comes down to doubt.”

Jack: “Maybe doubt keeps us honest.”

Jeeny: “And belief keeps us alive.”

Host: Their voices softened, their tones no longer clashing, but intertwining like two threads of the same fabric. Jack’s eyes lowered, reflecting the faint starlight; Jeeny’s hands trembled slightly, her coffee gone cold.

Jack: “Maybe it’s both,” he said finally. “Maybe belief without doubt is blind, and doubt without belief is empty.”

Jeeny: “Yes,” she whispered. “That’s it. Role models don’t give us answers, Jack. They give us questions worth living for.”

Host: The night deepened. A light from the clubhouse flickered to life, spilling a soft amber glow across the grass. The flag on the green fluttered one last time before the wind stilled.

Jack: “So when Gulbis said it was amazing to play for Nancy Lopez… maybe what she meant wasn’t hero worship, but gratitude.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. Gratitude for those who walked before us. For those who showed us it was even possible to walk at all.”

Host: The camera of the world seemed to pull back, framing the two figures — small against the vast course, their shadows stretching toward the stars. The earth felt quiet, content, as if it too had understood something.

Jeeny: “You ever had someone like that, Jack? Someone who made you believe you could be… more?”

Jack: (after a long pause) “Yeah.”

Jeeny: “Who?”

Jack: “My old man. Never said much. But every time I fell, he’d just look at me and say — ‘Get up. You’re not done yet.’”

Host: Jeeny smiled, a slow, gentle curve of her lips, like a lantern being lit in the dark. Jack looked away, his jaw tight, his eyes soft. The moment hung — fragile, honest, and whole.

Jeeny: “Then he was your Nancy Lopez.”

Jack: “Maybe he was.”

Host: The stars brightened, spilling silver across the green. Somewhere in the distance, a flag rattled softly, a reminder of the day’s effort, the struggles, the victories. And as they both stood there — one believer, one skeptic — a shared silence filled the space between them, not of conflict, but of understanding.

The scene faded on the sound of the wind, carrying the last echo of Jeeny’s voice:

Jeeny: “We’re all someone’s reflection, Jack. The question is — what light are we reflecting?”

Host: And with that, the night closed, soft and eternal, over the course, over the stars, over the two souls still searching, still believing.