I haven’t played all that much golf in my lifetime, but most of it (and the most memorable) has been with my brother Kent. And 90 per cent of that golf has been played on the Chappy Links ­— back in the 70s, 80s and 90s when it was The Island Ball Watchers Society, and more recently as The Royal and Ancient Chappaquiddick Links.

Our record was 99 holes in one day. We had planned a 27-hole “skins” game, but kept starting over because I’d get too far behind to catch up in the allotted holes. I still lost (by a lot), but it remains one of my fondest memories — not just of golf but of life.

We would walk the course often, but when brother Kent preferred to bring his good friend Gin and Tonic along, we’d take a cart to limit the putting down and picking up of his red Solo cup. The last time we played, I dumped his G&T (and almost him) by turning too sharply in our cart.

Like most things I did that could be easily be interpreted as annoying, Kent just laughed it off.

Kent had a peculiar habit of doing a little chicken scratch with his right foot after a good drive. It was an unconscious exclamation point on his effort. He could not have stopped doing it if he had wanted to (which he did want to after I repeatedly mocked him for the gesture; a gesture that was given far too many opportunities for my competitive liking).

He had a smooth, effortless swing. “Smooth jazz” I called it. His game was so technically accomplished that he needed the minimum of movement to make the ball go a mile. He taught me my short game (my only game), and he was alone in his ability to get me to listen to any advice.

I estimate that we played 1,000 rounds together at Royal Chappy over the past 50 years, all but two or three of which were full of warmth and laughter. On a rare occasion he would lose patience with my “humor.” We played one round in the mid 1980s after our grandfather Harold (Ham) Kelly had died. We had spread his ashes on a couple of the greens in tribute. Perhaps we played a little too soon after because Kent absolutely loved telling the story of how “we’d putt the ball, clean off Ham, putt the ball.”

Kent still holds the modern course record of 4-under for 9 and 5-under for 18. He had three aces: one on 2, and two on 8, none of which occurred in either of his record-setting games.

Kent also “worked” the Crow Bar. He was always gracious when the rather rude golfer would interrupt his dvd watching and Frito eating. His dog, Murphy, was his constant companion and possibly greatest love. There were times when I felt like the awkward third wheel, out on a date with him and Murphy.

Kent died a little over four years ago. I’ve probably only golfed a dozen times since his passing, but he’s on the course with me every day. He was always the first person I’d show a green that I was proud of or a new feature I’d added, and he still is.

I miss Kent most of my days, and every day that I am on the course. I’ll often turn to talk to him and he’s not there. But he is.

I don’t need to tell anyone to cherish your moments with friends and family on whatever course you play. You already do. But after they’re gone, don’t forget to still tell them that you love them. And just before they tee off, tell them once again that their game is looking great with no sign of that slice returning.

Brad Woodger is a resident of Plymouth and Chappaquiddick, where he manages the Royal and Ancient Chappaquiddick Links.