The Never-Ending Ramblings...

Too Cold and Too Old

Here it is March 17th – oh BTW, Happy St. Patrick’s Day – and it’s like thirty-four with the wind chill. The cold seems to have exponentially gotten colder because just two days ago, no make that three; it was creeping up to eighty degrees! The drastic vacillation makes the actual feel hotter or colder than it really is. I could have worn shorts on Monday.

So, the high schools went on. Lots of my friends were showed up so it was nice. Brad, -Mr. Pops Up In a Few Fantasies-, walks in and I say, “Didn’t you get the memo? You were supposed to bring food.” He glances around, and replies, Well, it’s in my car. But I see you’ve designated courts 1 & 2 for match play –which are wet, and 11& 12 for practice, they are dry. So, I don’t know.” He shakes his head in disbelief and squeezes a nice hug my way.

“Did Robbie tell you I gave him his hat?” He had left a hat signed by Brian Vahaly at my tennis center over three months ago. Robbie’s a ten-year-old feisty little tennis player. His older brother plays high school tennis. I had emailed Brad and his wife about the hat, so they could pick it up. Apparently, it wasn’t that important. “Did he hit himself over the head with it?”

I shoot him a confused look.

“Well, this morning, I get a call from the school, saying Robbie had lost his balance and fell backwards, on concrete, hurting his head. It was bleeding. So I rush over to the school, make sure everything is all right. Then, A couple hours later, I get a call – during a lunch meeting – saying he had bumped into a pole. He wasn’t watching were he was going. So, when I pick him up this afternoon, I say ‘don’t touch anything.” His teacher says, to me, she says,

‘Robbie said, he didn’t have the luck of the Irish with him. No Irish eyes smiled on him today.”

Also, someone brought his puppy. I forgot what kind it was, but it was all white, had ears that stood up like a German Shepard’s and was very adorable. Of course, I played with him. Walked around, showing him to all the parents, and players. The girls cooed. The father of the puppy owner speaks with an accent and I thought he said the dog’s name was Gecko. But it turns ourt, his name is Rocko.

Later, while we are waiting for Autumn to pick us up, Laney is chatting with Steve. I am in the office, wrapping up some last minute stuff. I should be cleaning, but I do everything under the sun to avoid the C word especially when it is followed by the letters L, E, A, N. So, I hear them, laughing and being a tab bit too loud. But by now, all the players have left so it doesn’t really matter.

“Robin,’ Steve calls out. “Your daughter just called me old.” He’s using his tattletale tone. Laney is fifteen and Steve is nineteen. I’m surprised she thinks he’s old. I walk out of my office door.

“She asked me, ‘Did they even HAVE cell phones when you were in high school?’


I’m laughing now. “How old do you think he is?”

“Well, now,” she stammers, between laughs.

I interrupt her. ‘No, how old did you think he was?”

“I don’t know, about twenty-five.” I giggle. Wishing I was twenty-five again.

I walk back into my office only to return to the counter again. “Well?” I ask Steve, “Did you?”

He laughs.

“You probably had those huge cell phones.” I show with my hands a make-believe cell phone about the size of a computer monitor.

“Yeah. It was big. One of those Saved By the Bell cell phones.”

I remember my first cell phone. It was big and heavy.

As I’m walking back to my computer I hear Steve say, to Laney, “I thought I would never be called OLD until I was like, thirty."

"Wait until you ARE thirty." I mutter to myself.