Tennis lessons

One summer we got signed up for summer school, it was the summer we were on Pacific Ave. in Olympia. My mom took us down to the sporting goods store and got us each a racket. Not the best ones in the store of course, because who knew if we were really going to like playing tennis or not? I was quite proud of my collegiate looking wooden tennis racket and spent a lot of time gripping its handle and studying the way the tape was wrapped around the grip. I looked at the strings how they were threaded into the head of the racket; I admired my new possession, and as a result admired my self a bit more than I had admired myself before.

I'm pretty sure that my brother and I had these lessons together, maybe. Anyway once we got to the tennis court we met our teacher. She was a short, wide, pale, husky woman with a severe haircut wearing white shorts and a yellow cotton top. As soon as I saw her, and saw the other kids already lobbing shots to each other with shiny bright aluminum rackets that reflected sunshine, skill and future victories, I got a bad feeling about my future as a tennis champion.

But I learned to enjoy just serving onto the gym wall, and amused myself that way while the mysteriously skilled and privileged kids hogged the court. I was glad not to play with them. I froze up as soon as she said I wasn't swinging my racket with proper form. Her hero was Billie Jean King; I was glad to see the last of her, Ms Tennisteacher.

Well anyway, nothing is in vain in this life. Because I have learned just in the last few weeks from my gentle readers that tennis rackets are effective weapons with which to defend oneself from bats! That information brought to mind a great game of badminton I had with some May flies.

It was the spring of 1994 in Lviv. It was May, and the flies were thick. We had an excellent view of the garbage cans from our every window; it was a straight shot for those flies to come to our place looking for desert.

They buzzed and bombed around our fifth floor apartment in the most annoying way and finally I snapped. I grabbed the flyswatter and instead of smacking a fly when it landed, I made contact with it in mid-air and shot it back across the room. I had the greatest fun! It was like a magical tennis game or badminton with several live birdies! It was better that a computer game where you get a burst of balls, because I could dash around the room and swing my arms and feel the satisfying soft THUD of connecting with a fuzzy furry fly. It was also great therapy since we didn't have anywhere to go to workout we didn't get much aerobic exercise. I had a great time with those May flies, and every year since then I've really looked forward to spring.