Recollections : Tennis

I have recently developed calcific tendonitis in my left shoulder, in no small part from playing tennis. The acquisition of this condition is multifactorial, but this post is not a medical one, it is one of nostalgia.

I would go to Leisureland in Dubai with my parents whenever my Dad wanted to play tennis, and he met two of his soon-to-be longtime friends in line at Leisureland. They started playing tennis together, and I was almost completely removed from this entire process. I was far more interested in how much adventuring I could do around the bleachers, what plants were growing, what garbage people left, than the rules of the game and the updated score.

I was around 8 years old when my Dad bought me my first real tennis racquet. It was a Wilson Rak attack, and I would use it to hit balls against the wall in the compound of my house. This was around the same time that my Dad had a decent part of the compound converted into an outdoor rec area. There were cement blocks in the ground for the floor, painted white lines against a dark green background on the wall to resemble a standard tennis net, and then there was this high, wide catch net to prevent stray tennis balls from leaving the court if they bounced too high off the wall. I really don't know how my Dad managed to pay for all this, but I'm hoping that, when I have children one day, I manage to save enough to be able to give them the same life my Dad gave me. It was not a life of continuous luxury, but when you needed it, the money was there. I hope I manage to raise my children to be as frugal as I am today, and I only plan on getting more frugal as I age, which previous posts would suggest.

I started off somewhat enthusiastic about tennis, but then things came to somewhat of a standstill skill-wise because my father, for all his enthusiasm, is not as good at teaching a sport as I am. He did not do an amazing job of critically analyzing the weak aspects of my swing or stance, "hit the ball hard" and "finish your swing" yelled in frustration from the other end of the court really only go so far in forwarding someone's game. At this point, we had bought a membership to a sports club and he would regularly book the court and drag me down there to try and sharpen my game. Also noteworthy is that, having grown out of the wilson rak attack, my Dad handed me the free tennis racquet we got from Pizza Inn for ordering two medium pizzas. The tennis sessions were so unfruitful that I remember myself thinking that I was only meant to follow tennis as a fan rather than to play it as an athlete.

Then a whole bunch of good things happened, one after the other. I moved to an apartment where there was an outdoor tennis court on the ground floor. My friends, who loved tennis, lived in the adjacent building. I played them constantly, consistently losing, but I gained a competitive enthusiasm for tennis as a result. Then, one fateful day, I played my Dad to a set of 4-4 and asked if I could switch racquets with him. He laughingly agreed, I beat him, he bought me a new racquet, and our tennis games have been one-sided ever since. The last time we played, he mentioned that his only real goal was to try and get one game off me in a set.

I represented the third level (Group C) of my high school tennis team in Grade 12 in men's doubles, and I kept up with the sport infrequently throughout my undergraduate studies. I'm not as good as the other people I've met who have bought year-long memberships to outdoor-indoor facilities and have had numerous lessons (I've only actually had 6 paid tennis lessons), but on occasion, before I stopped due to shoulder problems, I'd still be able to take my friends to school.