Game, Set, Match

I finished reading the Inner Game of Tennis today. It brought back some memories from high school.

I wasn’t the most popular kid in school, but I wanted to have friends and be liked. There was just something about me that made me the lonely kid. During my transition between middle school and high school I lived near the local tennis courts. The offered tennis camps during the summer, and it was within walking distance. Since, most of my summers were spent home alone watching T.V. it was a great opportunity for me to get out and enjoy some activity.

I of course was a beginner, and when I arrived at the first class I was much older than the other students. I tried to so hard to do well, and towards the end of the summer camp I thought that I had progressed significantly.

There is a small part of the story that I’m not telling you. I had this super big crush on a boy called Jimmy H. I had told him about my crush in my 8th grade year. I think he was mortified by the fact that I had a crush on him. However, if I recall correctly he wasn’t really rude about dismissing me, but I admit to continue to pine after him even though I didn’t bring further attention to myself. See, Jimmy H. was a star tennis player in middle school, and of course I knew he would be on the high school tennis team. So, there was a small part of me that wanted to join the high school tennis team to be closer to him. I think my rational was that if I could be good at tennis, and make it on the team then he would see me as a potential girl friend.

I know failed logic there.

However, I really did enjoy tennis. I tried to practice all summer, and tried out for the tennis team in 9th grade. Let’s face it I didn’t have the skills as a beginner in high school, and promptly was told I wasn’t going to make the team cut. Tennis kids start young and train like crazy. My crush faded, and I moved on. I was still the sad lonely kid for the rest of my high school career. All I wanted to do was fit in somewhere, but never quite found my niche. It felt like most people put up with me because they didn’t quite know what to make of me. I don’t really know what they thought… that’s me just making up stories because I can only remember bits and pieces of my early life. I’ll hear a story or a song, and then some small bit comes racing back.