Until last year, I only remember having attended one tennis match.

That first experience was about 30 years ago at a match in Los Angeles where I watched Andre Agassi in action. Following the spin of the ball as it moved back and forth over the net caused me to become dizzy, and I turned my attention toward the crowd where celebrities were reported to be. I failed to spot Barbara Streisand, but Johnny Carson was off in the distance, sitting with his back to the sun. To watch him watching the match caused me to squint, which was about as uncomfortable as being dizzy.

As a youngster I thought there were only three sports: football, basketball, and baseball. Later in life I came to appreciate other sports but never became enthusiastic about tennis.

Then last year our youngest grandchild entered high school. Her older sister played volleyball; her cousins played football, basketball, baseball, and soccer. Until last year, though, none in the family played tennis.

My wife and I have delighted in the pleasures of being grandparents. One of those pleasures is following and encouraging our grandchildren in whatever sport they participate in.

Our grandchildren are now grown and gone (or grown and about to go) and only the youngest remains in high school. You can guess where this story is going— yep, our youngest gal has become a tennis player.

It’s been a joy to watch her play from last year’s somewhat awkward beginning into a much-improved player this year.

While watching her a few days ago in her regional tournament, I quietly remarked to my wife, “Now that was a rather impressive return. She’s become quite competitive.”

You can’t holler from the stands at a tennis match like we used to do when our grandson was a quarterback throwing the football, or when he was a pitcher throwing the baseball over home plate, or when a granddaughter was jumping to tap the basketball to a teammate, or even when another granddaughter was the libero digging for the volleyball. No, you’ve got to speak softly at a tennis match.

“I can’t believe she’s the same grandchild who tried playing soccer and basketball during her pre-school years in organized sports,” one of us whispered. Our communication was so quiet, at times I couldn’t make out which one of us was doing the talking. Perhaps it was a form of telepathy.

“Yeah. I remember. She once handed the basketball to a player on the other team. She said she felt sorry for the other little girl because she wanted the ball so much.”

“And how about that time when we saw her walk off the soccer field to ask her coach if she could sit on the bench for a while. She said she was tired and hot.”

“Well, it was rather hot that day, as I remember.”

We continued to watch the tennis match and took joy in watching the older version of our last grandchild.

I expect we will have two more years to attend tennis matches. I don’t expect Streisand will be in the crowd, but if she were, I wouldn’t notice her. I’ll be giving all my attention to the granddaughter.