sandraferns
New member
We started doing “family meetings” because a parenting book told us to. They were awful. Ten minutes of forced eye contact, everyone on their phones under the table, and my 11-year-old negotiating screen time like a lawyer. So I cancelled the next one and told everyone to meet me at https://enchantedforestnz.com/ instead. Onehunga, 18 holes, winner picks dinner. My partner raised an eyebrow. The kids actually put shoes on without a fight. That’s how desperate we were for something different.
The magic started at hole two. You’re in a real park, not a neon warehouse, so the conversation just… happens. Mature trees overhead, surround sound music keeping the vibe right, and enough space between groups that you don’t feel watched. My daughter started explaining why she hates math while lining up a putt. My son admitted he was nervous about camp while waiting for me to miss an easy shot. We weren’t “talking about feelings”. We were playing. But the feelings showed up anyway. The course is designed by golfers, so it’s not dumbed down, which meant the kids had to focus, and focus left gaps for honesty.
Hole 13, “The Cage”, is where the meeting peaked. You have to smash the ball to hit a target and ring a bell for a stroke off your score. We made it a team challenge: if any of us rang it, we all got ice cream. My partner, who claims to hate golf, took it personally. Three swings, total silence, then ding. The kids screamed like we won the World Cup. We didn’t talk about chores or grades for the rest of the round. We talked about strategy, wind, and whether Dad’s putting was “statistically tragic”.
Afterwards we hit the BBQ area with fish and chips from next door. 400 free car parks meant no one was watching the clock. Under-5s are $5 and spectators are free, so our budget survived. That night, unprompted, my son said “can we do the meeting there next week?” We’ve been going for two months. Nothing’s perfect, but we’re talking again. Turns out you don’t need a circle of trust. You need 18 holes, some birdsong, and a bell that’s way harder to hit than it looks.
The magic started at hole two. You’re in a real park, not a neon warehouse, so the conversation just… happens. Mature trees overhead, surround sound music keeping the vibe right, and enough space between groups that you don’t feel watched. My daughter started explaining why she hates math while lining up a putt. My son admitted he was nervous about camp while waiting for me to miss an easy shot. We weren’t “talking about feelings”. We were playing. But the feelings showed up anyway. The course is designed by golfers, so it’s not dumbed down, which meant the kids had to focus, and focus left gaps for honesty.
Hole 13, “The Cage”, is where the meeting peaked. You have to smash the ball to hit a target and ring a bell for a stroke off your score. We made it a team challenge: if any of us rang it, we all got ice cream. My partner, who claims to hate golf, took it personally. Three swings, total silence, then ding. The kids screamed like we won the World Cup. We didn’t talk about chores or grades for the rest of the round. We talked about strategy, wind, and whether Dad’s putting was “statistically tragic”.
Afterwards we hit the BBQ area with fish and chips from next door. 400 free car parks meant no one was watching the clock. Under-5s are $5 and spectators are free, so our budget survived. That night, unprompted, my son said “can we do the meeting there next week?” We’ve been going for two months. Nothing’s perfect, but we’re talking again. Turns out you don’t need a circle of trust. You need 18 holes, some birdsong, and a bell that’s way harder to hit than it looks.