My First Love

I found my childhood dream, tucked away in a closet gathering dust. The grip was worn, not only from years of sweat and use, but age had taken the shine off the leather surface. The strings that once were so tight that I could hear musical notes when the ball was bounced on it, were broken. The only possession of my youth, that will bring tears to my eyes. My tennis racket.

Hours were spent at the Thrifty's drug store, in the sporting goods aisle. I would hold the tennis rackets and dream of greatness. Then I would jump on my bike and ride to the courts to play tennis late into the afternoon. It became my place, the place I could dance on the hard courts. Fellow tennis players of all ages became my friends.

I entered all the local tournaments and I managed to win my share - winning in divisions much older than me. Some of my friends had private lessons. PRIVATE LESSON! Oh, how I begged my mom for them. It just wasn't to be. So I would sit on the bench, watch and listen to the instruction, then dash to a side court and practice what was taught. I was the most attentive sideline student out there. And when I played tournaments, and a new coach was around, I played even harder, hoping and praying to be "discovered". I still remember one coach say of my playing "She has great concentration. She has good hands and a light touch".

My friends had the fancy tennis outfits. I had hand me downs. They had the pretty skirts, I wore shorts. What I lacked in proper tennis attire, I made up with a killer serve.

My dreams of Wimbledon faded, and so did my tennis fervor. It has always been in my mind to come back to my first love. To the place I remember. So when my friend called to play tennis at a country club my heart lept. I went out and bought a fancy tennis outfit. I went out and got the latest racket. I am coming back 40 years later. And tomorrow, I'm going to take a tennis lesson. On the court. With a pro.

Not on the sidelines.