Taking theTennis Plunge

IT WAS MUCH ON MY MIND, and I was enjoying thinking about it. The newest self made crisis turning point in my ever lengthening life.Nother pleasantproblimeto sovle,which, in truth, I had already soved, except for the execution of my plan and my experiencing the consequences. I wanted to talk it, to "bounce it off a wall", so to apeak. And t didn't matter off whom. Nobody would really be interest in hearing about my dilemma, nobody but someone willing to just sit, listen, and offer bland cliche responses would do. Fortunately, that descrives almost anybody and everybody. I was on my way to the liquor store for the first time in months. Every now and again I like to cop a buzz by drinking three or four beers. That satisifies me for weeks, usually. I have alcoholic ancestors, am especially vulnerable to alcoholism ,but have always managed to drink without falling off the cliff, so to speak. I was looking forward to the eer and I realized that I was aobut to meet my victim; whoever handed me the beer through the drive thru windowwould hear my story. It wasa young lady, as usual. bi turnover, usually young country ladies. She handed me my beer, and I noticed there were no customers in line behind me. Usually there are, but on this day I sensed that there would be no drive thru beer buyers for at least the next couple of minutes. But, spoke fast, and said this: "I started playing tennis when I was a kid, got good at it, played my way through college, and went on the enjoy a decades long career as a top flight amateur tennis player. Then, I moved to a small town with no tenis courts, and instead of doing the necessary driving to continue playing (I hate to drive), I just sort of let it go, gradually, over the weeks, months, and years playing less and less, until, one day, I became a retired tennis player. Now, I am seventy, several of my old tennis friends want me to start playing agin, one of them told me, wisely, that you don't have to be young or good to have fun. That one iece of wisdom got me started. Now, i wantto play tennis, but I spent my entire life being so competitive, tournamnets, all that, that the urgent need to get better, at everything I do, tennis and everything else, tends to guide and dominate my thinking and attitude. Work hard. Improve. Never give up. All that. A lifetime of indoctrination, enbraced and reinforced within. Not that I knock it, but, well, it has its limits, especially now, when all that matters is fun and exercise. What i fear, I said to the young lady, is experiencing the harsh reality that at my age,and in my state of rust, that I will walk out onto the tennis court and make myself disappointed and miserable. For a few moments the yong lady seemsed a bit taken aback, and the older lady standing behind her had her mouth open, because I was telling the narrative passionately, with passion in my voice. Maybe she tought I was holding up the store. But the girl began to understand, and seemed to become actually somewhat vicariously involved in my "emotional plight". I told her that I felt the way Jefferson felt about being president of the United States. He called it "splendid misery". Yes, I was and am entranced with and attracted to the notion of starting tennis from scratch at the age of seventy, with a head start based on years of previous experience. However, I understood (understand) that trying to get good again will be grueling and protacted; that it will be far easier to just hit the court, hit the ball, and laugh about it. In short, I am afraid, uselessly. She agreed, suggested the latter path. "Just don't put too many expectations on yourself", was her best advice. I hope I take that advice. I plan to - as of now. She then mentioned her problem; that she can feel her body changes as she ages. I resisted the urge to tell her "wait till you're seventy". What I said as I drove away I think was brilliant: "I guess I just need to have fun playing tennis, and you jsut need to have fun growing old." As she greeted the customer behind me, she seemed to agree.