As a younger person, I barely grasped the meaning of the word “microcosm.” I thought it could be applied to any sort of small group, instead of a small representation of a larger group. While it sort of matters, it doesn’t in the grand scheme.
My life right now is rather freakishly microcosmic, although I’m thinking most any tiny group might be compared with almost any larger group. For goodness sake, I’ve short-circuited.
Take two. I knew where I wanted to go with my initial train of thought but I would never get you there. So, off we go to another cosmos, maybe. Good grief, I feel as though I’m back to teaching science fiction. I enjoyed teaching sci fi, but I’m done with that teaching business.
Today I’ve been thinking about “things” that have had large parts in our lives. And where have they gone? The sport of tennis was an instrumental part of my life for over three decades. I played, I taught, I coached. I stopped. Honestly I don’t think I’ve picked up a racquet in 25 years. Tennis was a love/hate thing with me (that could be said for several other things).
As a kid, I spent loads of time behind our town’s middle school hitting tennis balls. It was close by and they had newer courts at that time. Seven minutes by bike, if one hustled. Fifteen minutes on foot, if the shortcuts weren’t blocked. Over the years there were a few shortcuts if one was on foot. Through the woods behind the courts, over the fence panel by the top area of the courts, through the dirt road by the piano teacher’s house. I opted for the latter method most of the time because it was usually unblocked.
It was rare for me to be on foot. Riding my bike was my preferred method. Once the dirt road shortcut was permanently closed, one had to ride one’s bike to the front of the school and then down a path on the far right. This took us, whether on a bike or on foot, past the exterior of the pool and the girl’s gym to the rear area of the school. As one continued on the right-hand side, the tennis courts made their appearance. There were two tennis courts, fenced off partially, that bordered a couple of basketball courts. Then there were six more beautiful courts, with a backboard on the first court.
Tennis heaven, except during the 60s and 70s it was a very popular activity in my town. Most people were good about keeping play to one hour if people were waiting to play. Now I suppose a riot would break out. I honed my game, such as it was, back there by battering the backboard if no one else showed up to play.
As a budding teen, if my neighbor and I went to play I knew there would be a post-tennis cigarette. Though the same age, my neighbor was more sophisticated than this tomboy. We’d sit and smoke our cigarettes. Then we’d chew some grass from the field because it was supposed to cover the smoke fragrance. Who did we think we were fooling?
My mother. I fooled my mother because we were in a bad car accident when I was young and my mother (driving the car) smashed her nose against the steering wheel and lost a large percentage of her sense of smell. Still, I chewed the grass and spit it out because I was too young and stupid to think of that fact back then.
This is the model of car that bought the farm back then and it was the same color.
Safety features back then left much to be desired. Back to tennis. Even though I broke my leg badly in the crash, it never impacted future athletic endeavors.
The town always ran some good summer programs through its recreation department. I participated in a tennis program one spring and won a serving contest. It netted (pun intended) me a prize! A Tretorn Tennis Trainer. Very high tech in 1969!
It was a great prize and I spent literal hours in the driveway hitting the ball as hard as I could. Heads up if the elastic “string” broke because you had to dodge the string and keep an eye on the ball as it flew across the street.
There’s so much more to tell, but I’ve lost my momentum for now. Who does that? The readers want a complete post, not a quit because you lost your oomph. Oh well. Stay tuned…or not.
