Tennis and Me

Hmmm. I'm not sure about that title. I try to stay as far away from tennis as possible. Frankly, I'm uncomfortable with having 'Tennis' so close to 'Me'.

I don't think I'd hate tennis so much if I didn't have to play it. But since I have been compelled to play a few times, I've learned to.

You see, it all started because Mom and Dad like to play tennis. They played it while they were dating, or something like that, which gives them some kind of sentimental attachment to the game. And so one day last summer they suggested that Beka and I learn how to play. I was all for it. As I put on my tennis shoes and chose my racket, I kept seeing me on that court, sending ball after ball over the net with graceful sweeps. It was all so easy. Just swing the racket and get the ball over the net. Come on...a baby could do that!

My dreams, however, experienced a crashlanding as I stepped onto the court and began attempting to 'volley' the balls over the net. It was too hard! Most of the time I missed them when I swung my racket, so they never went anywhere at all. Finally, however, I got to where 6% of the time I could hit my balls back over. I was thrilled. Nothing was more satisfying than that little crack as the ball went into the air. However, I discovered a new problem. I think it was mostly because I was so frustrated, but every time I actually hit the ball, it went so high and so far that there was no way my opponents could get it. They just stood with their hands over their eyes to shade from the sun and watched the balls fly. When the ball finally crashed to the ground just behind the big fence, I would be told, "A little less force there, Rachel." However, a 'little less force' made my ball go about three feet, so I stuck to the high balls.

After around five games, I have given up on tennis. I'm sick of it. Who would ever want to waste their energy, time, and valuable limbs (ankles, etc.) on such a ridiculous game? I have better things to do. Besides, that game is so totally pointless. What is the use of hitting balls around all day?

Tennis, however, is not the only sport I've failed at. One of my biggest failures was volleyball. The one time I played that game, I played in complete terror: terror that my turn to serve was coming up, terror that somebody would be brainless enough to put me in an important position, and terror that the ball might come in my direction, requiring me to do something with it. I could not seem to get myself in the right position at the right time to do anything about the balls that kept flying over the net. Worse still, I spent most of my time getting in the way of anybody who tried to do something about all those balls. But serving was the ultimate nightmare. I couldn't get that ridiculous ball to go anywhere but into a near-by ditch. Thankfully, however, I did have a few decent players on my team and we won in spite of me.

As for baseball, I haven't played that in a while. I think my childhood experiences settled that game for me. I have faint recollections of being conked on the head by a flying bat at one point during a game. It was an accident, if I remember right. Somebody was just in one big hurry to get around the bases and back to home, and let their bat fly when it came time to run! I like all that energy and everything, but why on earth did I have to be standing behind the batter?

I've only played football once. That was when my brother-in-law, Steve, and sister Jennifer came home to visit. Matthew, Timmy, Caleb, Steve, Jennifer, their two boys Joshua and Ethan, and myself gathered out in the backyard and somehow started playing a game. Steve appeared to know something about football. I believe he played it as a youngster or something. Anyhow, he made a great team leader and coach. I had a lot of fun playing that game, but lived in constant fear of being run over, trampled, or hit by run-away balls. I did manage to score a few yards---by accident. I never did score a touchdown, but helped my teammates get a few. We won in the end, so what does it matter that I mostly ducked and yelled when the ball came my way?

I don't play soccer much, mostly because last time I did, somebody slammed my ankle instead of the ball. That hurt. I mean it really hurt. Miraculously, my ankle suffered no real damage. I expected to be a cripple for life, but by the next morning I was fine. I now have a deep-rooted sympathy for the soccer ball, though.

I guess the one and only game I have ever succeeded at, even momentarily, is basketball. And I have only my parents and sports movies to thank for that. I don't know what it is about sports movies, but Mom and Dad seem to love them. Especially movies about basketball. We've watched more of those than I like to count. (It has probably only been four or five movies, but it sure seems like a whole lot more!) The one most clearly etched in my memory was about some guy named 'Pistol Pete'. I learned about him later by looking around on the Internet (the movie was not all that factual), and I understand he was a real person, and a fantastic basketball player.

The one good thing that came out of all of those movies, besides that all you need in life to succeed is a little positive thinking (why do sports movies love to promote that theory?), is that an ounce or two of basketball technique got drilled into my head. We used to have a basketball hoop here, but that was taken down a few years ago. So when I stepped onto a basketball court last summer for the first time in years, I was absolutely shocked. I actually scored about five times in a row. It took me completely by surprise. I just grabbed a ball, stood five or six feet away from the hoop, and did what all those basketball players did in the movies: I went up on my toes, made a nice little jump, and let the ball fly. Swish. It went cleanly through the hoop. It was beautiful. I was dumbfounded. Wondering if maybe that was just complete chance, I tried again. Once more I made a basket. I tried a few more times, with the same effect. I couldn't believe it, and was just beginning to feel I had found my niche in the sports world, when...I stopped making baskets. In retrospect, I have to say it was probably all beginners luck. Oh well. It sure was satisfying while it lasted!

There is only one thing that is even slightly sports related that I am good at. That is running. When we go on our daily walk, Beka and I like to jog, walk backwards, skip, and do other things to put ourselves through some kind of exercise routine. It also helps slow us down a little since we walk ahead of Mom and Dad, and they walk way too slow for us. If we aren't careful we can get three quarters of a block ahead of them.

Most things in our exercise routine I am not very good at. In walking backwards I am hopeless. In most of the other things, I manage to keep up. In jogging, however, I can hold my own. Beka does not share my enthusiasm about this area. She does not approve of my jogging style. Whenever we start to jog, I quickly get ahead, and can hear her calling behind me, "We are jogging, Rachel, not running. Slow down!" I do usually slow to her pace, but dislike it. I like running so much better than jogging. Of course, I can only run at the pace she dislikes for about 30 seconds, but I am working on that. Beka has grand dreams about us being able to jog all the way around our block. I'm not sure if that will ever happen. Maybe I will run all the way around our block, but definitely not jog.

I suppose the reason I like running so much is that there are no balls, bats, rackets, nets, or hoops involved. It only takes some legs. And I've got those, thank goodness. However, I'm not sure how truly good I am at this. Running faster than Beka means nothing, since she doesn't run very fast at all. I'm probably a snail compared to most people. Oh well. I don't have to run with most people. I just have to run with Beka, and I can run faster than she can. I'll just enjoy my one area of glory, thank you very much!

So, I guess I'm going to give up on sports for a while. I have come to the conclusion that I am just not an athlete. I'll keep my interaction with sports down to watching those miserable basketball movies and running a few yards around our block every day. So, if you ever come to visit and pull out any kind of ball, bat, racket, or net, don't be surprised to find me in my room....reading a book!

The Weekly Bible Verse

2 Chronicles 7:3: When all the Israelites saw the fire coming down and the glory of the Lord above the temple, they knelt on the pavement with their faces to the ground, and they worshiped and gave thanks to the Lord, saying, "He is good; His love endures forever."

Bits and Pieces

Here we go for the third birthday in the past couple weeks! (Don't worry; this is the last one until May.) Dad had his birthday on Monday, turning 53. Beka made him his very favorite cake, from scratch: angel-food. Her taking a turn at cake making gave me a break for once! I made a sea-gull card for him, remembering that Dad loves the sea.

Timmy and Caleb watch as Dad prepares to blow out his birthday candles. Photo by Mom.

We had a great time on Monday at our little birthday celebration, after a lunch of 'General Tso's Chicken' (homemade as well). Dad fell in love with that recipe at a Chinese buffet not far from here, and for his birthday Beka decided to try making it at home. It took her all morning to make that and the angel-food cake, but it certainly was delicious. We will definitely be trying that recipe again!

For his birthday, Dad received his favorite pistachio nuts, the book 'Witness', by Whittaker Chambers, his doctorate certificate nicely framed, a bottle of pomegranate juice, and a denim wall hanging. He also received numerous cards in the mail from friends and family.

Beka making 'General Tso's Chicken'. Photo by Mom.

Some of us have been kind of sick this week. I started it by getting sick on Valentine's Day (no, I did not eat too much chocolate!) with some kind of stomach flu. The next day my flu was mostly gone, but I had a severe sore throat. For over a week after that I was plagued with a sore throat. I wondered if I was dying of tonsillitis or something, but now I think it was just a bad sore throat. I am very happy to be back to normal...or almost back to normal. I still have a bit of a cough at times. But the others are quickly making up for my recovery. Matthew says he is getting a cold, and Dad felt sick one morning this week as well. The others remain in some degree of health.

A Word About The Weather

It has been pretty cold this week, but towards the end it warmed up a little. Dad predicts we are through the cold of winter and are heading for spring. I'm not sure whether that is a good thing or not. Spring is nice, but the work isn't!

A Word of Wisdom

Even the hardest puzzle can be built---just take it one piece at a time.