The older I get the more I realize how life's small moments keep us going. Last week, when I wrote my last blog, I was completely derailed by my son abruptly moving out of the house. At the time, it seemed like the end of the world. In a way, I guess it was. It was the end of the world as I knew it; the world of two parents and two offspring sharing a house. Although this blog clearly states that my goal is to get my children out of my house, this was all too sudden; too tense; too sad.
Today, I played tennis. I smacked the hell out of that fuzzy sphere and you know what? I feel better. For the first time in weeks I played halfway decent tennis. That alone made me feel good. Once you've passed the half-century mark, any day you come off the court without injuring something is a good day. When you win the match on top of it, actually contributing some rocking shots against opponents ten to fifteen years younger than you are, other problems fade away. At least for a few minutes. I got a great workout and had a lot of laughs. There's not much in life that's better than that.
But the best part of this story is the half hour before my match. My son, who also works at the tennis club, decided to rent a court with a ball machine. After playing for a half hour, he invited me to join him. We hit with the machine until the last ball was hurled at us and then stood on opposite sides of the net. We traded ground strokes, volleys and overheads. We teased each other about missed shots. We laughed. The tension of last week was nowhere to be found. He may not live here anymore but for thirty minutes on the court, I got my boy back.
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