Usually, to get to a golf course, you head to the suburbs or countryside. But today, I’m driving past the projects on Hartford Avenue in Providence, then turning right a few blocks. It’s called Button Hole, a nine-hole short course, which means all holes are par three. It’s odd to find such a green place in the inner city.

I’d arranged to join a typical pair of players here to see what the course is about. Carlos Moyeno is 43. He and his son Ryan, 14, are setting up on the first hole. It’s around 4 p.m. on a recent weekday.

Carlos has raised Ryan alone since he was 3 months old. The reasons are private, but it has been just the two of them.

“He’s a great kid,” says Carlos.

Ryan Moyeno, with his father Carlos, practice putting at Button Hole. (Photo Courtesy of The Providence Journal)

There are other courses around the country with an inner city focus, but most have to bus kids in. Button Hole is perhaps the only one close enough for neighborhood players to walk or bike.

Carlos and Ryan live that close.

Ryan is 14 and a freshman at Central High. He went to the Perry Middle School.

“All creeds,” says his dad, “all nationalities.”

That’s where Ryan learned to play. Button Hole sends coaches into such schools to teach the game. Golf has now become Ryan’s main sport. Carlos hopes it will help open the door to a four-year college. Carlos went to a two-year business school, and says, “We always want our kids to do better than us.”

You can tell Ryan has been coached. He has a careful pre-shot routine and puts his first ball on the green.

Carlos has taken the day off to be with Ryan. He’s general manager at Narragansett Bay Lobsters in Narragansett. They sell retail and wholesale. It’s a demanding job. He sometimes works 12 days in a row, late hours as boats come in. “It’s the industry,” he explains. When he’s not able to be home, his mom looks after Ryan.

Carlos says he lives for days like this day when he gets to spend time with his son. On the green, he watches as Ryan studies the grade. “The coaching staff,” says Carlos, “they’ve brought out the best in Ryan. They saw he had a gift.”

Ryan sometimes comes here four times a week, as do others from the Hartford Avenue neighborhood, a bit beyond Olneyville near the Johnston line.

“This keeps kids off the streets,” says Carlos.

It costs only a dollar for kids to play, and $10 for adults. Many courses cost 10 times that much, and more, if you can even get on them.

Dave Hanna is the executive director at Button Hole, a nonprofit. He grew up in the game, learning at country clubs, and found that golf networking helped him in business. He joined Button Hole to give the same chance to kids who wouldn’t otherwise have it. Button Hole needs to raise $600,000 a year in donations, so it’s a challenge to keep the course going, but it’s got a board of committed notables from around the state, some of whom created it in 2001 from state land that had been a junk-filled gravel pit.

Carlos and Ryan are finishing the second green now.

“He’s got his own membership card,” says Carlos. “Makes a kid feel good. You’re part of something.”

The tee for Hole 3 is one of the most unusual anywhere. It’s a high platform-dock build over a pond surrounded by swampy wetlands. You have to drive 110 yards — straight — to clear it, or your ball is lost. The course is packed into 26 acres, a lot of open land by city standards, but Button Hole had to be creative to squeeze nine holes onto it.

As we walk, Carlos says he used to like going out with his buddies at night. That all changed after Ryan arrived.

“It forced me to grow up,” says Carlos. “The father experience has meant the world to me. It’s a beautiful thing.”

Ryan was born prematurely, and weighed less than two pounds. He was an incubator baby for five months.

“We called the priest in two times thinking he was going to die on me,” says Carlos.

He remembers being at the hospital every moment he wasn’t working, feeding Ryan bottles and sleeping in the room. It was hard to see Ryan struggle. “I don’t take anything for granted anymore,” he says.

He’s grateful to Button Hole not just for Ryan’s sake, but for getting him to pick up clubs again himself. If this course weren’t here, says Carlos, golf would be out of his reach.

Ryan’s drive makes it over the wetlands, but Carlos’ shot goes wide. He smiles and says it’s always a point of pride when your child starts playing better than you.

“I know Ryan’s going to be something big in this world,” he says. “He’s been a fighter since day one.”

I ask what else they do together.

They like to fish, go to the movies. They like to barbeque too, on the deck of their home, which overlooks the course.

This is a gift they've given me.  I guarantee you Ryan will be playing golf with his kids. God willing, I’ll be part of that.

Does Carlos still go out with his buddies?

“I’d rather spend time with God’s gift to me here, to be honest with you,” he says. “I don’t do that other stuff anymore. I’ve got to be a father now.”

Dave Hanna tells me that between its school program and the course itself, Button Hole reaches over 1,700 kids a year. Carlos wishes it could be more.

“I see the kids on the corners, time wasting away,” he says, “parents not spending time with their kids.”

There are other children all over the course by now, getting lessons or just playing.

“This is a gift they’ve given me,” Carlos says. “I guarantee you Ryan will be playing golf with his kids. God willing, I’ll be part of that.”

They finish up their game, but Ryan isn’t done yet.

They say their goodbyes to me.

Then, with clubs in hand, they walk to the driving range to continue playing, father and son together.