Updated: Dec. 26, 2015
Originally Published: July 26, 2015
Growing up, I never engaged in tennis in a formal capacity. Sure, I took a few lessons here and there, and on occasion, my brother and I would grab our rackets and head to the park for a casual game. However, my technique left much to be desired. I still remember the embarrassing moment when I swung my racket with all my might, only to miss the ball completely and instead strike my own forehead, leaving a scar beneath my eyebrow—a painful lesson learned in more ways than one.
So when my daughter expressed interest in taking tennis lessons, I eagerly took her and her sister out to hit some balls. Drawing from my limited childhood experience, I was able to demonstrate how to grip the racket and impart wisdom like, “Remember to hit the ball, not your face.”
Initially, I relied on explanations and demonstrations, but soon realized my daughters were eager to get into the action. We began with balancing the ball on the racket before moving on to bouncing and swinging at it. The resulting attempts were comically reminiscent of cartoons—lots of misses and giggles.
As a parent, I never wanted to be overly demanding in sports, preferring my children to learn at their own pace. Yet, I found myself becoming impatient, wishing they could master the skills more swiftly. Then, I took a deep breath, recognizing their joy in the moment, regardless of progress.
My younger daughter soon lost interest and began to practice independently, employing creative methods to hit the ball over the net and retrieve it. This allowed me to focus on my older daughter, who appeared determined and enthusiastic. She had dabbled in tennis at camp and was beginning to realize her enjoyment for the sport. For a girl who had shown little interest in organized sports until now, this was significant—and it motivated me to nurture her newfound passion. My wife and I were committed to supporting her as long as she was interested.
I positioned her on the court, showing her the proper stance—knees bent and racket held at the ready. I tossed her a couple of balls; one landed in the net, and another soared out of bounds. Gradually, I began to hit the ball towards her lightly, and occasionally, she made contact.
Then, out of nowhere, she executed a perfect return. I was caught off guard and fumbled my response, hitting it back to her clumsily. To my surprise, she volleyed again! Unfortunately, my next hit landed in the net, but she was clearly thrilled. Having played a game called Jail at camp, she understood the significance of successfully returning the ball. This moment marked her first point scored in tennis, even if she didn’t fully realize it at the time.
We continued playing a few more rounds, but none matched the excitement of that first volley. As we wrapped up and collected the stray balls scattered around the court, I asked, “How did it go? How do you feel?” She looked up with a radiant smile, and her response melted my heart: “Proud.”
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In summary, teaching my daughter tennis became a rewarding experience, filled with laughter and personal growth. It was a moment that not only nurtured her interest in sports but also strengthened our bond as a family.