Last spring, my daughter asked if she bought a case of tennis balls, would I have time to teach her and her children how to play tennis. "Sure!" I exuberantly answered.
It was until October when we finally coordinated schedules. I had suspected that five year old Sebastian would make a good tennis player and my suspicions were correct.
As a youth tennis player, I'd witnessed the emergence of a world class tennis player and from Mr. Agassi, I remembered a few tips about teaching little boys tennis. Mr. Agassi, father of Andre, used to bring him to our high school tennis courts when he was about Sebastian's age. I watched the little tike wack the balls over the net with a tenacity unexpected in one so small. I also remembered that Mr. Agassi didn't limit Andre in form, but allowed his son to find his own by encouraging him to hit the ball as hard as he could.
I decided to take the same approach with Sebastian, and soon learned that any attempt otherwise would be a foolish endeavor. My job was to let him hit freely, to learn his timing, to love the sport.
The first lesson had his mom on one side of the court and him on the other. As I alternated balls between the two, he would move over and steal her feed. Since I have more promise for his future in tennis than I have for his mother, it made me smile. Second lesson, he did the same. I also learned I could drop the ball to him in front of the backboard and he would hammer it in. The ball came too fast for him to hit it a second time, but we weren't worried about hitting the ball twice-- yet.
The third lesson was private. I had Sebastian all to myself to see what glorious things might happen one on one. The first three ball feeds, I was amazed at his timing, and he was actually hitting it over the net. Each time he missed the ball, he would say, "Missed." He played with intensity, but I reminded myself he was just a little boy in a little body, and the most important component had to be fun. After two buckets of balls, he sat at the net. "Are you finished?" I asked. "Yes," he responded, having decided it was time to go home and have a cheese sandwich.
His future, as is with all five year olds, is yet to be determined.
It was until October when we finally coordinated schedules. I had suspected that five year old Sebastian would make a good tennis player and my suspicions were correct.
As a youth tennis player, I'd witnessed the emergence of a world class tennis player and from Mr. Agassi, I remembered a few tips about teaching little boys tennis. Mr. Agassi, father of Andre, used to bring him to our high school tennis courts when he was about Sebastian's age. I watched the little tike wack the balls over the net with a tenacity unexpected in one so small. I also remembered that Mr. Agassi didn't limit Andre in form, but allowed his son to find his own by encouraging him to hit the ball as hard as he could.
I decided to take the same approach with Sebastian, and soon learned that any attempt otherwise would be a foolish endeavor. My job was to let him hit freely, to learn his timing, to love the sport.
The first lesson had his mom on one side of the court and him on the other. As I alternated balls between the two, he would move over and steal her feed. Since I have more promise for his future in tennis than I have for his mother, it made me smile. Second lesson, he did the same. I also learned I could drop the ball to him in front of the backboard and he would hammer it in. The ball came too fast for him to hit it a second time, but we weren't worried about hitting the ball twice-- yet.
The third lesson was private. I had Sebastian all to myself to see what glorious things might happen one on one. The first three ball feeds, I was amazed at his timing, and he was actually hitting it over the net. Each time he missed the ball, he would say, "Missed." He played with intensity, but I reminded myself he was just a little boy in a little body, and the most important component had to be fun. After two buckets of balls, he sat at the net. "Are you finished?" I asked. "Yes," he responded, having decided it was time to go home and have a cheese sandwich.
His future, as is with all five year olds, is yet to be determined.
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