The Day Of The Summer Tennis Team

I remember the first day I walked into my kindergarten class, I clenched my mother’s hand with all my might to prevent her from letting go. The kids around me, whom I supposed were my classmates, had long let go of their mother’s had and were playing together, and even as a five year old, at that point I felt like an outsider. I pleaded my mom to not leave but my attempts failed as I found myself alone yet surrounded by complete strangers. As I stood in the center of the room while pushing back my tears and eyeing my mother make her way out the door, I heard the teacher call my name. I timidly walked towards the spot on the yellow carpet she was signaling at for me to sit on. I heard Mrs. Ross’s soothing voice but no matter how much I concentrated

I walked away feeling like I was a complete failure and that I didn’t deserve to go on. On the way home my mother tried to talk to me, but, I put on my headphones and cried silently. Once we were home my father asked how it went. The tears that were in my eyes and they became more evident as my shoulders and chest were shaking and trembling. The only sound in the room was the sound of me crying and wailing. I started crumbling and falling to the ground and my mother and father rushed to my side. They held me until the tears came to a stop and a little bit afterwards

I walked silently, my converse crunching on the wet sidewalk. I zipped up my jacket and took a sip of my coffee. I slowly walked towards my school when someone's shoulder slammed in to me. My coffee flew out of my hands, the lid came of as it hit the ground, spilling all over the sidewalk. I stumbled as I tried to regain my balance. I hate this small town I thought to myself. When I returned home I arrived to both of my parents sitting at the table. I looked at them with a confused look, “Ava why don't you take a seat,” Father said “we have something to tell you.” I took a seat not saying a word just giving them a confused look. “Ava honey your father got a promotion,” Mother stated “and we are going to be moving to California!” Fireworks were going off in my head thinking of all of the new things I would get to experience.

I was at my house sitting on the soft couch that I was sinking in like quicksand. I had my tennis racket in one hand, a fuzzy neon green tennis ball in the other. My house was always empty because it was just my mom, my dad, and me. Now, I have a crazy little brother and he is very messy. I was watching a little kid movie with my baby brother and the DVD froze. I figured that it was time to practice for the tennis tryouts. The tryouts are for a camp that took girls to learn more about tennis and compete with other teams. My mom went to that same camp and I wanted to follow in her footsteps. The camp that is ran by an elementary school and it was to help little kids get into sports like tennis. But, lately my mom is acting like I was

“Stay focused, just pretend that it’s practice.” I calmly whispered to myself as I became set to receive my opponents fist serve of the match. I could feel the warm perspiration dripping off my nose onto the scorching tennis court. My opponents’ moral showed signs of distress as I smashed a strong cross-court forehand, sending him deep to the far left corner of the court as he lethargically swung and missed the ball, ending the point. The match had just begun, ending in my favor (1-0). It was the first round of the men’s semifinals, and perhaps the warmest day in November. I stood on center court battling for the number one men’s singles title. My competition for the tournament was the most daunting task to ever encounter throughout my high school endeavor. Moreover, this match served as a pivotal moment, perhaps sending me to play at a higher level, or ending my final season perpetually.

I buried my head into my mother’s shirt. My warm tears dampened her shirt, but I could tell she had no intention of pushing me away. There were other voices around me, but her’s was the only one that I cared to focus on. “You’re a strong and brilliant little boy,” she said to me, “you shouldn’t let this move break you down like this.” I knew she was right, but I was just so furiously confused that I didn’t want to acknowledge it. “How could you know?” I howled, “you’re not the one who’s spending hours alone every day because you’re too terrified to ask anyone if they want to play a game or hang out or even have a conversation!” My sobbing intensified. “No,” she quietly said to me, “but you’re not the only one who left Costa Rica to come here.”

From time to time, I feel that everything I do is worthless if I don’t make it to college, or win my tennis tournament, or get straight A’s. I get overwhelmed thinking that I will let down people who believed in me when the world thought I should fail. A stop light is flashing. It’s a sign. No one will be mad or disappointed with me. My family, friends, and God love me for the way I am. I am doing my best and that is all I should be focused on. I am smiling as we are passing tennis courts and pulling up at the school’s parking lot. I can see courageous little girl swinging with her pink racket and missing bright green balls. That reminded me of the times I dove, fell, cried, and tore my skin in order to finally hit that ball where I want it and when I want it. So much passion and focus was put in every practice and match I have ever had. Yes, I hoped for the rain, occasionally, so I can skip my practice. But,I have never said it out loud. I was always there to protect my dream and give all I have for tennis. This girl is doing the same, even though her dad is getting inpatient and she is stumbling by the racket's weight. It’s about overcoming inner fears and what others think of me. This is so clear to me now as I am looking at countless misses that this young hero makes.

Through experiences of playing sports and pursuing academics for the past three years, I found it always difficult to balance school and athletics. Coming home from practice or matches, eating dinner, showering, and doing homework until three in the morning seemed like a constant, repeating cycle. I always caught myself drowsing during class, but still having the capacity to pay attention, take notes, and complete tasks. Despite the struggle of stabilizing schoolwork and sports, I was aware of the fact that I aspired to play tennis, especially since I enjoyed playing with my father every weekend. Playing tennis for many years, my dad was a main reason why I took interest in enduring the sport. Although my father and I played for fun, I witnessed his motivation, perseverance, and dedication to the sport while playing, whether it was playing against amatuer me, or competing with others who ranged from adequate to professional. In addition, my team has been a major motivational factor throughout the years that I have played tennis. From singing to High School Musical during practice to cheering each other on during games, they have always been a fun and supportive aspect of my

I ran and felt as if I was about to collapse. Conditioning for tennis had been going on for three days now and I still was not used to all the exercise. I was sore and my muscles felt heavy and tight. l had never played any sport in middle school, which is why I wanted to try one in high school. As my mother drives up towards me, I felt the sudden urge to cry. I tried to hold in the tears the entire car ride home. My mother noticed that I was more quiet than usual, and asked about how my day went. I only shrugged and looked away as I wiped a tear away.

My mom had called me three time, each time her voice grew with annoyance. I dropped my Barbie dolls that I had been playing with for the last hour. They dropped to the floor puled on to each other with the same plastic smiles looking up at me. I sped down the stairs like a cheater looking for its prey. When I reached the bottom a whiff of dinner hit my face. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. It smelled like mashed potatoes and chicken. I resisted the urge to go check and went straight to the living room. The T.V. was on and seemed to have my brother’s full attention. My brother was seven years older than me and we shared a striking resemblance. My mom and dad were next to each other on the opposite end of the couch. My mom had a pillow

“Now I must move on”, I told myself even though the pain still lingered. Before the start of the tournament I had received a text from the Alabama men’s tennis coach. He knew of my entry into the tournament and wanted me to visit the campus when I received an opportunity. I proceeded to text him my arrival time to visit the campus and talk to him. As my dad and I departed towards the university, I grabbed the essentials for my cold.

I chose to participate in this activity because I love tennis. I love putting all parts of a serve into one fluid motion, sending the ball exactly where I want. I love the sound of a ball hitting the racket strings in the sweet spot. I love running up to a seemingly hopeless short-ball, getting there in just enough time to tap it over the net. I love the feeling of satisfaction after putting all my strength and energy into a tough match.

Just like the guitar for Taylor Swift, writings for Ms. Lawler, Sports, especially ball games, are my things. My parents have always taught me to stay active and their love for tennis has influenced me to participate in this activity. Even though the weather in central Pennsylvania does not give me much chance to play, I always keep a racket in my room. Black and white color block with pink lines, my lovely tennis racket has been wrapped in a black velvet bag and awaits my calls to bring it back to the court. Now, whenever I hold my little tennis buddy on the field and use its supports to withstand the opponent’s attack, I recall a particular moment of my tennis lesson and a part of advice my coach gives me.

It was a scorching hot day during the summer of 2006. Tensions were rising on the court as drills went on, sweat dripping off of our bodies like rain from the sky. I held my raquet with a tight grasp as the next feed entered the court. I rushed towards the center of the court with hopes to hit a hard slice. I was only seven at the time yet it felt as if it was the US Open and all the pressure was on me. I glanced over to my right and saw my mom waving back, watching intently as I played each

The hot ,humid air swirled through the house . You could see the people having their own festivities outside on the street & children playing on the “dirty playground” as my little brother called it . It was the seventh month of 2013 , that's when it happened it . The perfect world and the many hopeful possibilities that I had created in my head had crumbled around me .The floor had been snatched from under me and the walls had fallen in or so that's how it felt . “ I am not her father “ , reading that text made me realize the man that I had come to know , love and cherish as a father was no longer my father. How could this be I was just like him , the only difference was that I am lighter . I was in awe I felt so betrayed reading the text between both my mother and “father” stating that I was not his biological child , and I know he wasn't lying. It had been proven by