Friday, March 01, 2013
Some of you wanted to know how the second week of tennis lessons went last night. I say "lessons," but it's a large group class with multiple teachers. Not one-on-one or two-on-one individual lessons, per se. Which is fine, because it's much more fun-based and laidback this way--it's clearly meant to be simply an enjoyable introduction to the sport for small children who haven't played it before.
First, let's recap: after last week's initial lesson, there was much crying and sobbing and the dramatic vow (from Genevieve) to "never pick up a tennis racquet ever again!" Genevieve also informed us that "the worst letters in the English language are T, E, N, I, and S!"
Genevieve now loves tennis with the heat of a thousand suns.
Just as we suspected she would when we originally signed her up for tennis.
In fact, she seemed to love it with the heat of a thousand suns the second she walked in the door last evening. It didn't even take an entire second lesson to win her over. She ran off onto the "court" with her racquet in tow, thrilled to death to be there and without one backward glance at Daddy (whom last week she insisted stay glued to her side for the first half hour of class).
As for Julia, ermm, no. She is not a tennis fan. Actually, I had high hopes, since she started off just fine, too. No tears, no scowls, no protests. She was doing really well, hitting the ball more times than not and looking like she was (might be?) having fun. No such luck. At about ten minutes left, Julia started to cry and never really recovered. She'd been hit by the ball in the arm twice--yes, it left bruises--and she was frustrated by "always getting corrected." (Um, that's the teacher, TEACHING.)
I hope and pray that Genevieve's enthusiasm rubs off on Julia. All I want is to give her a little exposure to and skill development in a new sport, something we can do for fun as a threesome on summer weekdays and with which she can hold her own, at least a little bit, in P.E. class at school. She doesn't have to become a tennis player. But she does have to finish the five-week YMCA tennis class. (Only three left!)
So there you go. A perfect example of the kind of crazy, fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants situations you find yourself in as a parent, and of the unpredictable and head-spinning behavior of children.
But it's all good. Because at least one of us LOVES tennis.