♡
It’s lunacy I know, but I think teens are wonderful. Those in my life are kind, energetic and have a brightness in their eyes. Even ones I encounter who seem drained and cast down deserve a pat on the back for hanging in there. Mostly though, I meet the really good ones.
This rosy attitude was challenged one evening after an eighteen year old strolled onto the courts hoping to join us in a doubles match. He seemed all those things a young person should be: energetic, keen and eager; yet he showed a quiet politeness, like older kids often do when they’re at their grandma’s house.
As always with Racquet Network drop-in doubles, you expect a pleasant outing with lovely people, sensible strategy and playable balls. Not this evening. This evening, the teen came to play.
As soon as he steps in for his serve, it begins. He mumbles sheepishly something about strings as he attempts to put a Nadal-like spin on what I think is his kick serve. It’s the kind of spin that makes most casual doubles players throw out a back in attempting a return. While he apologizes profusely for double faulting, his next crack at it succeeds. The serve is admirably returned, unfortunately though, to the waiting racquet of the young man.
Coiled in a predatory stance, he unleashes a topspin forehand bulls-eying me and my right hip, who are both parked at the net. Except I’m shorter than a typical player, so the ball heads directly for my ribcage. I manage, with decent reflexes, to shank the ball over into the adjacent court where another doubles match is in progress. A big smile on his face, the point is his.
Another serve is carved with some serious spin but the ball stays in play for a few shots until he blasts a forehand, this time to my right, down the doubles alley. Yes. Stupidly, I am still at the net. The ball is hit with such pace it doughnuts my racquet an almost full three hundred sixty degrees. The vibration from the strike shoots from my hand, through my wrist and into my meaty forearm, if meaty means like a baby robin’s ankle. The boy smiles, with more than a hint of pride at the shot, apparently giving little pause to the pain he delivered. My arm dangles lifelessly for the next two points.
☯
He continues to play with this intensity for two and a half hours. He chases everything, including the shots his partner is unable to muster the energy to reach. He retrieves balls from over the fence with such exuberance and spring someone really should have smacked him. He runs everything down, he hits like a pro and is ruthless with his shot selection. In other words, the teen is a menace.
You might want to be on the look out for such young people, so well brought up and pleasant. They endear themselves to you in a way that you want them to date your daughter, if indeed you actually had one. They are as crafty as they are delightful. Beware.
