My Way Back Into Tennis 1974, Paris, I wonder through cobble stone streets trying to make sense of the place. I am 9 years old, we just got there due to my parents new work assignment. No French, I am looking with blank eyes to people that are trying to talk to me, in my own way I am telling them I have no clue why I am there, and I don't want to be there, I want to be back home with my friends. That ain't happening of course. Quite reserved I am, scared and mute. I hate the place, and I do mean hate. After few months of unapproachable attitude, while my parents do their best to help me acclimate into the environment by trying to entertain me with various activities, they take me to a tennis complex. The place is full of red dirt, crowded, I have some silly hard and uncomfortable shoes on that hurt my feet with each step. People are playing tennis, which I don't quite understand the attractiveness, but I admit to myself that they are pretty cool looking people; whi...
My Up and Down Relationship With Tennis