Love One

The 2016 US Open Tennis Championships were, as usual, filled with surprises, upsets, winners and losers, joy and despair, great moments and small.

Y'know - Life!

I was fortunate to travel to New York City to attend a day at the Billie Jean King Tennis Center and to sit in Arthur Ashe Stadium, watching a Scot named Andy play the quarter finals.



But as I travelled 40,000 feet above the ground back to Oregon from the Big Apple - I wasn't thinking about Billie Jean, Arthur or Andy Murray. I was thinking about another Scot... Isabel Mary MacKenzie.

My mother.

To my knowledge, my mother was not a very athletic person. She was a cultured woman. She knew The Messiah by heart, loved classical music, played the piano, read great books, wrote with impeccable grammar, enjoyed art, had a beautiful voice and was a polished host.

But sports? - as a twelve year old I just didn't see it.

Then one day I learned that the parks department was offering free tennis lessons. All you needed was a racquet... everything else was supplied no charge. I asked if we might be able to afford a racquet... my mother replied, beaming, "You can have mine."

I was flabbergasted. "You have a racquet?"

And then there it was, neatly fixed into a press... a beautiful varnished racquet... just one problem. It had a wicked curve on it, much like the way a hockey stick blade was curved in the 1960's.



But for me... it was amazing... and mine.

I learned to play with that racquet, how to replace broken strings myself and I won my fair share of junior matches and a high school championship along the way.

I learned how to keep score. What deuce meant - that the game was scored love, fifteen, thirty, forty, game. That a Set was first to six games, win by two. That a Match was two of three sets.

I learned that you respected your opponent, never cheated on line calls, never used bad language on the court and shook hands win or lose... and that you meant it.

But I learned something else along the way, something more meaningful, something that stays with me today.

I learned that you could start with a twisted, hand-me-down racquet - you could win tournaments and lose them - you could even attend the Canadian Open and watch Borg and Chrissie, the US Open and see Connors and Martina or Wimbledon to enjoy Sampras and Steffi.

But those tennis life lessons really started with a mother who not only loved me, protected me, taught me - all the while encouraging me to live my own life. She once wrote to me "Be yourself - but be your best self."

I learned that keeping score is a good thing - particularly if you remember to start with-

Love - One.


"When the game is over, the kings and the pawns go back into the same box."