KUMEU, New Zealand -- Sitting on his deck in his trademark sandals, shorts, tank top and baseball cap, Steve Williams is eating strawberry ice cream. Not from a bowl, a cone or a sundae dish, but rather straight out of the carton. He doesn't care how this looks. Doesn't care what people think. Every man has a weakness, Williams explains, and ice cream is his.
As Williams indulges in his creamy dessert, his 2-year-old son Jett climbs out of his high chair and walks to the narrow patch of grass in front of his home where a miniature golf club sits. The boy picks up the club and starts hacking away, smiling ear to ear as he sprays plastic balls all over the yard. A few pelt an orange Ford in the driveway. Jett laughs. So does his Dad.
"I've never shown him a thing," Williams says, "never said a word to him about golf."

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