Updated: Dec. 26, 2015
Originally Published: July 26, 2015
Growing up, tennis wasn’t a significant part of my life. Sure, I had a few lessons, and my brother and I would occasionally play, but it was all quite informal. I fondly remember a moment when I swung my racket with enthusiasm, only to miss the ball entirely and smack myself in the forehead instead. The scar below my eyebrow is a reminder of that embarrassing mishap, which I was too shy to explain to my parents at the time.
So, when my daughter expressed a desire to take tennis lessons, I was eager to share what little I knew. I took her and her sister to the courts, recalling my own childhood experiences to guide them. I demonstrated how to grip the racket and offered pearls of wisdom like, “Aim for the ball, not your face.”
Initially, I relied heavily on explanations, but it became clear that my daughters were itching to dive into practice. We started by balancing tennis balls on their rackets, then moved to bouncing the balls and swinging at them. The swings and misses were almost comical, akin to a cartoon.
I’ve always been cautious not to pressure my children in sports. I wanted them to learn at their own pace, but I found myself growing impatient, wishing for quicker progress. Taking a deep breath, I reminded myself of their joy, regardless of how fast they were improving.
My younger daughter soon lost interest and began practicing independently, using her own quirky methods to hit the ball over the net while chasing it down on the opposite side. This left me with my older daughter, who seemed determined and eager to excel. Having had a taste of tennis at camp, she realized it was a sport she enjoyed—an important discovery for a girl who had otherwise shied away from organized sports at just seven years old. My wife and I were committed to supporting her newfound interest.
I positioned her on the court, just inside the “T,” and demonstrated the “ready” stance—knees bent, racket centered. Tossing her a few balls, she hit one into the net and another sailed far out of bounds. I then began to gently hit the ball to her, and gradually, she made contact more frequently.
Then came the moment of surprise: she returned a perfect shot. Caught off guard, I scrambled to respond but stumbled, sending the ball back weakly. To my astonishment, she volleyed again! I was not prepared and hit it straight into the net.
In that instant, I could see the pride in her eyes. She had participated in a game at camp where successful returns kept players in “jail,” and she realized she had just scored her first point without being sent to jail. It was a significant moment, though we didn’t replicate that success in the following rallies.
As we wrapped up our session and gathered the stray balls around the court, I asked her how she felt. She looked up, beaming, and simply said, “Proud.”
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In summary, teaching my daughter tennis was not just about imparting skills; it was an experience that brought us closer and revealed her newfound passion for sports.