My father’s uncle was a man named David Schwartz, my Uncle Davie, and he played tennis until his 97th year of life.  I was told he rode his bicycle to the park to play tennis just two weeks before his death.  My memories of him are strong, a tan wrinkled faced man with pep in his stride and a kindness that was palatial.  His smile, his positive attitude even though his wife was a lot to deal with, and his generosity are etched into my heart.  He called me after my first son was born to tell me I gave my son the same name as his brother and he thanked me.  That was the last time we talked. 

At his funeral, my cousin Steven, one of Davie’s sons and someone I was close with when I was younger, sat and talked.  We laughed about the time that Dave, 92 at the time, and another great uncle, 95 years old at the time, beat my sister and I in doubles when we were younger.  The idea that a 12 and 13 year old would get beat by two 90 plus seniors made everyone watching laugh and rejoice in the victory.  I still blame my sister, but we got beat badly.  Steven and I then reminisced about the summer of 1980, and all the tennis we played together. 

My father was a well known tennis champion and his family felt incredible pride about that.  Tennis became a connective tissue that held the family together.  When my father was unable to play tennis anymore, the family kinda broke up.  There were no more family tennis days or long discussions about who is better then who, we all lost touch.  With the passing of my great uncles generation, a family veneration of tennis was lost.  But not for me!

Tennis was all I had left of my father’s family.  My genetic gift of tennis talent and my childhood filled with tennis glory made me that guy, the guy who loves tennis more then any activity.  Many years of my life were spent teaching others tennis.  I shared my love and my knowledge with others and for many years it was enriching.  Then it happened, I started hating teaching tennis and I wanted to play!  I looked down at my 230 pound body, my bad hip and lower back, and my chronic tennis elbow.  I might have wanted to play, but I was in no condition or position to play.  So I stopped teaching tennis.

When my younger son was born, I named him David after my great uncle.  When my son was old enough to talk, he talked a lot.  He asked about his name and then about uncle Davie.  He asked why I didn’t play tennis.  I couldn’t answer. Why wasn’t I playing tennis? It had been years since I picked up a racquet.  Sometime in the Spring of 2014, I started hitting against the wall in the near by park.  Little by little it came back, and my new exercise routine that included yoga and using an elliptical machine, got me back to fairly good shape.

By the beginning of that summer, I was hitting hard and consistent.  People would watch me hit, like a prize fighter on a speed bag, I lit up that wall.  Forehands, backhands, all hit solid and with good spin, it felt really good.  “Come hit with us?” A little man peeked around the wall, and he invited me to play with him and his friend.  I said no, but he didn’t take no for an answer and persisted.  He was a kind-looking foreign man with an accent.  He got me to play and it was fun, the wall gets boring.  I didn’t miss a ball that day, I hit with fluidity and grace.  They were impressed and I was too, I never was that good before!

My soon to be good friend, Cesar, taught me what my Uncle Davie taught me all those years ago- tennis is fun.  He was 70 years old and still a practicing doctor, and he is now my best friend.  He loves tennis like my uncle did and reminded me how much I love the game still.  It’s years later now and Cesar talks about wanting five more years of tennis.  I am lucky enough to have all of Cesar’s young friends as my tennis buddies and we play often.  Days in the park spent playing tennis, it must be heaven?  Is this what my father’s uncle was trying to tell me as I worried about winning and losing at 12?  The fact is, you always win when you are gifted with time to play tennis and to prize it.  We all will play our last game, and travel our last time to the park.  But tennis, it’s rich history and it’s gift will keep being given from generation to generation.  Thank you to the ghosts of the past for reminding me that our finest moments are spent on the tennis court.  LOVE!