Tennis racquets and tennis balls were stored in a cubby hole above the stairs that went down to the basement. I can remember when I could first stand on a a stair and lean forward enough to open the door and then barely be able to reach my fingers up enough to nudge the handles of the racquet closer and closer until I could get a grip on it and pjll it down. Then I had to use the racquet to slide out the tennis balls. He would mark a D for Doral on his new balls, usig the curved decorative line of the tennis ball for the outer curve of the D, and just drawing on straight line to finish off the first initial of his name.
Doral had an expensive racquet. Wood with real gut. I knew not to get water on the wooden frame of that racquet or on the gut. And it had to be stored flat so that the wood didn’t warp. Doral played with his friends at the tennis court. I just went along to bat the ball against the back board, trying to make myself into a serious competitor.
By the time I was in my teens Doral taught me how to play badminton.
 |
| Oh Doral, even at this age you could have run me all around the court. ~Arta |
By the time I was in my teens Doral taught me how to play badminton.
We could play that game in the church gym, or in a school gym that the church rented every Monday night.
He taught me how to flick my wrist with the badminton racquet (not a tennis move, he told me), and how to make my opponent run all over the court, back left corner, front right corner, back left corner. And then, when there was a rhythm, and my opponent would start to run for the front right corner, Doral showed me how to place the birdie in the front left corner just out of their reach, a small easy slow move. A taunt. Doral taught me how to have a quiet giggle going on at the same time as I played games.
I was a married woman when I first played racquet ball with my dad. We went to the University of Calgary courts, the same way we went to the Hillhurst–Sunnyside courts – getting there so early in the morning that our games were finished by 7 a.m. When the first regular players who had signed up for the room would knock on the door with their racquets to say that our time was up.
I wanted to learn from him how to teach my own kids how to play. As well, I wanted to be better than them at the sport, as he was with me. I wanted to show my kids that I was the boss, at least in the court. “What could I have done to get that shot?”, I asked him one day.
“Nothing,” dad said. “Nothing. No one could have returned the shot I just gave you. Your mistake is not that you couldn’t get that shot. Your mistake was made previously when you gave me an easy shot. Never give that gift to your opponent”.
Soon I bought two squash racquets, one for me and one for anyone else who would play with me. I even took a set of squash lessons at the university. I would go alone into the courts before work and practise what I had learned in the lesson of the week, seeing if I could make that squash ball fly up and down the court close to the wall, or tying to get my timing just right on the serve.
Then Doral came over to play with me. I thought having had a good set of lessons, I might just be on par with him. This was not the case. As well, it took me a long time to figure out where those tiny black and blue bruises were coming from that were all over the back of my body.
I was a married woman when I first played racquet ball with my dad. We went to the University of Calgary courts, the same way we went to the Hillhurst–Sunnyside courts – getting there so early in the morning that our games were finished by 7 a.m. When the first regular players who had signed up for the room would knock on the door with their racquets to say that our time was up.
I wanted to learn from him how to teach my own kids how to play. As well, I wanted to be better than them at the sport, as he was with me. I wanted to show my kids that I was the boss, at least in the court. “What could I have done to get that shot?”, I asked him one day.
“Nothing,” dad said. “Nothing. No one could have returned the shot I just gave you. Your mistake is not that you couldn’t get that shot. Your mistake was made previously when you gave me an easy shot. Never give that gift to your opponent”.
Soon I bought two squash racquets, one for me and one for anyone else who would play with me. I even took a set of squash lessons at the university. I would go alone into the courts before work and practise what I had learned in the lesson of the week, seeing if I could make that squash ball fly up and down the court close to the wall, or tying to get my timing just right on the serve.
Then Doral came over to play with me. I thought having had a good set of lessons, I might just be on par with him. This was not the case. As well, it took me a long time to figure out where those tiny black and blue bruises were coming from that were all over the back of my body.
I don't think he was intentionally hitting me. I think this was his one failing. He just couldn't judge where I would run next.
(#4 of 15, to be continued)
Arta
No comments:
Post a Comment
If you are using a Mac, you cannot comment using Safari. Google Chrome, Explorer or Foxfire seem to work.