Illustration by Annette Allen
Expect to start young. Not just being single-minded about tennis. Being devoted is not enough. There are some fun extras in store for your youth and your “being.” Being defined by your blackness. Being a racial anomaly wherever you go. Being constantly aware that any failures or missteps will reflect on everyone who looks like you. Have fun with it.
Expect to have a mushy concept of “home.” There’ll be a hometown, like Richmond or Compton, where you’ll have cultural ties and foundational memories. There will be another town, like St. Louis or Delray Beach, Florida, to which you’ll have to move in search of resources and the ability to play year-round. Neither the mass of your neighbors nor the local tennis establishment expects you to dream of “serious” tennis. Wherever you move will serve as a home base for you, “the tennis player.” Expect to wonder which place will count as home for you, “the person.” Trick question. There is no such place. There’s no place like home.
Expect it to take a village to raise a tennis player. Not just a devoted mother, the unseen power source behind so many success stories. You’re going to need a present father. But not just any father. An abnormally committed father, even compared to really committed fathers. Said father must protect your body from injury and overtraining, your mind from outside negativity or a compromised education, and your talent from a lack of reliable mentors like Ron Charity, Dr. Robert Walter Johnson and tennis coach Richard Williams. It’s going to take a village, starting with a devoted mother and an abnormally committed father.
Expect to be flawless. On and off the court. Between points and after matches.
Expect the father part to be a bit of a pickle, considering how many fathers have been separated from their families through economic deprivation and mass incarceration. It takes a village, but so much of your village was burned before you were born. Expect to find a way to manage, preferably without too much fuss. Work those bootstraps. As you’re aware, any failures will reflect on everyone who looks like you. Have fun with it.
Expect to be flawless. On and off the court. Between points and after matches. In serves and returns. In humility after victories. In effusive praise for opponents after defeats. In the face of cruel words like “I wish it was ’75, we’d skin you alive.” In your native country. In foreign lands. In how you dress for play. Expect to only discover something was a “rule” after you “broke” it. Expect new rules to be written as a retroactive reaction to something upsetting about you. Expect the rules not to care about your performance or your health, only appearances. Expect to look human, but to live as an object — and “flawed” objects are discarded. Expect to be flawless.
Expect to be a hero and give back, within limits. If apartheid is a problem, expect to help address apartheid. If poverty is a problem, expect to help address poverty. If education is a problem, expect to help address education. If a health crisis like AIDS or maternal mortality is a problem, expect to help address health. If police brutality is a problem, expect to either keep it to yourself or gamble with public consternation and unpredictably fragile endorsement deals. If double standards in tennis are a problem, expect to make a similar gamble. No matter the eventual reception, expect to always calculate the potential costs, the costs of living at the mercy of the tennis world’s hackles, in a way others do not.
Expect nothing from umpires. Expect to lose any arguments. Expect to be punished severely for “losing your cool.” Fairness is not the umpire’s mission. Letting you know who’s boss is. Expect to be reminded often. Expect to be comfortable with tennis probation. Your life is probation. Expect to know better than to raise your voice. Expect the possibility of joint disqualification even when your opponent is the one who’s both out of line and a known repeat offender. Expect to be misunderstood for outbursts of passion. Expect to “play like there’s no tomorrow” while remaining composed at all times, or gamble on the mercy of the hackles.
Expect you’ll eventually realize this is not equality. Expect you’ll realize this is as close as you’re likely to get. It was as close as those who came before you got. Expect to wonder whether it will be as close as all the kids who grew up watching you will get. Expect to stop wondering when you hear things like “being black only helps.” Expect to refrain from expecting more of the world. Expect to understand that the tennis world and its spectators simply have too much going on to be burdened by all your expectations. Have fun with it.
Michael Way, who lives in Richmond’s West End, is a writer, political commentator and activist.
