My First Days of Tennis

Do you remember the first day you played? My mother took me to the courts with wood racquets that cost not much more than a metal can of tennis balls. I remember being 10 years old and experiencing my first attempt to he hit the ball back and forth with no idea of form. My mother could hit it pretty well and just hitting inside the lines was a challenge. There were no points.

That day and days like those at the old asphalt tennis courts located 10 minutes by car were my first experience with tennis. The sound of the ball off the frame was crisp off the wooden racquets on the courts. We'd wait patiently for a court to open. Courts were crammed in the early 70's.

"Darn it," she'd say as I hit one over the fence into the briars-the place of lost balls. I'd go get it and bring back others. I'd find and save them in a paper shopping bag. The Spaulding tennis balls we used were white. They came out of a thick metal can that had a key tool to twist the metal top off. The vacuum pop it made an air rushing burst. And the smell of new tennis balls was much richer then. We'd save a can of balls for many weeks. I'd rinse it out and use it as water container. It was a solid metal water container with a pop off top metal top.

Our Catholic Church located within view of the public courts in North Falmouth, Cape Cod. It's now a condo complex. I'd been asked to become an alter boy but I declined. The thought of being in front of rows of people terrified me. It wouldn't happen. And I'm perfectly fine that it didn't. After church, the first thing I wanted to do was play tennis. We'd go home; I'd whip off my church clothes put on white tennis shorts, a white polo shirt and head back to North Falmouth for Sunday practice. The practices would last about one hour and the only goal was to hit the ball over the net and in the court. We would have some long rallies and those were the best. After getting tired we'd head home and have one Sunday Donut served with a slice of apple on the side and read the Boston Globe. I'd read the funnies and look for the Peanuts Cartoon. Snoopy playing tennis was the best. I'd draw Snoopy on self made birthday cards, love notes and letters for years.

I had no idea that I'd become a Tennis
​Teaching Professional. My Mom would now have her weekly indoor tennis lesson with me. One day we counted a 53 ball rally over the net. I wrote the number on a tennis ball and gave it to her. That ball was placed on my parents living room family bookcase.

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