“I don’t mean to brag but…” began my
daughter, hesitantly. Nearly whispering,
she continued, “…but I’m the best tennis player in my class.”
As much as I discourage bragging, I
let this one go. When it comes to
athletics, she can brag all she wants because well, it doesn’t happen very
often.
Is that a crushing indictment of my
little eight-year-old’s athletic abilities?
I hope not to sound too cruel.
Let’s just say the athletic gene is a recessive one in this family.
But tennis… now that could be
something entirely different. Here is a
sport that requires something more than just being able to run fast or jump
high or even… skate. Perhaps that’s why
I could somewhat excel at racquet sports when in most other sports coaches
preferred me as a spectator. It’s funny
how those bad experiences on sports teams never leave your memory, like the
time my eighth grade basketball coach (who’s a woman) yelled at me, “You’re
playing like a girl!” Ouch. While my daughter may indeed play like a girl
because she is a girl (which by the way, is an awfully sexist insult even by
1980s standards), she probably won’t be the star of her sports team, that’s all
I’m saying.
But tennis could be different… And now I
can suddenly relate to the fanatical parents at hockey games who squeal with
joy when their son (or daughter) scores that winning goal. When I hear her
tennis instructor say that my child
has the most amazing backhand, I nearly become teary-eyed, emotions of fatherly
pride overwhelming me.
Yes, it’s a new experience for
me. As someone who takes for granted his
child’s achievements in school, questioning why his daughter only got 96% on
her math exam, this feeling of pride is uncharted territory. It’s really humbling (boy, do I hate it when
people say that!)
What I really want is to see her
have the opportunity I never got while learning how to play on a cracked,
weed-infested court in small-town Saskatchewan.
It was fun for sure, but like most children raised in the harsh prairie
climate, where only three months of good tennis weather ever exists, I was
never taught technique.
I got my first glimpse of real
technique when one of our Japanese students joined me for a game. She was a slight build, but what she
lacked in power she more than made up for with a graceful swing that rarely
broke form, even on the most challenging balls.
Don’t get me wrong, I still beat
her. And she wasn’t very much interested
thereafter to play with me. But it was
in that game I realized how much I wanted, if anything, to have my own daughter
display that same advanced skill and grace on the court.
It sounds like she may be well on
her way, driving balls harder than the other kids in her class and even running
a little (yes, stamina is something we’ll have to work on).
Of course I’ll temper my enthusiasm and
not go overboard. You know, I’d hate to
become of those parents. We'll take it slow. I don’t have my sights set on Wimbledon or
anything. Provincial finals maybe, but
that’s at least a couple years down the road.
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