One of our just-for-fun goals is to visit all four of the major tennis tournaments: we only have the Australian Open left. In the summer of 2009, just after our oldest child, Christopher graduated from high school, we took a trip to Europe. Since all three kids played tennis, we thought it would be a great opportunity to enjoy the tradition that is Wimbledon, as a family. Over the years, some of our fondest memories have been adventures with our kids; whether we are tent camping in the mountains near our home in Tennessee, or tent camping on safari in Tanzania, we have loved exploring new things together. (Yes, perhaps these parents were a bit unrealistically sentimental when they planned a European trek, with parents and teenagers spending every waking moment together for three weeks. There may have been a fist fight between two brothers on the streets of Valencia, Spain, but that is a story for another time!).
We were in awe with the tradition that is Wimbledon! London's premium grass, tennis club did not disappoint. Each of the four tennis major tournaments has a different vibe or feel to spectators, and I assume players, as well. The French Open, being in Paris, seemed to be about style and had a "yes we are more cultured than you" attitude. The US Open was refreshingly brash and very NY, rather like a 16 year old strutting his stuff. And Wimbledon, with it's all white clad players (yes, they get fined if they appear with any other color than white on their outfits), its manicured lawn courts, and strawberry-and-cream traditions, felt like your Grandmother's house; though it hadn't changed in 50 years, it was so well maintained, there was no need to rearrange.
I myself grew up playing on grass courts. As teenagers, my sister, Linda and I formed our own tennis court in the front yard of our house. Half way between the house and the road, there were two young trees, across which we stretched an imaginary net. We never really chalked out lines, but tried to call what we thought was fair during play. We played in our Mennonite dresses and bare feet. The ball would often take unpredictable bounces from the little bumps in the yard, resulting in a plethera of lunges and lurches to hit that sweet spot in the center of the racquet. We seemed to often find ourselves playing tennis on our front lawn in the early evening, about the time a certain handsome young man named, "Greg" would be driving in our driveway to drop off our brother, Gary, after a day's work at their brick laying job. It took a lot of work to make the timing appear merely coincidental, but it surely paid off: after 36 years of marriage, Greg and Linda are still serving together.
Our family was in awe of the tennis greats that we watched at Wimbledon in 2009:
There was Andy Murray and Stan Wawrinka.
Our favorite American doubles team, the Bryan brothers.
There was the American Diva and greatest female tennis player of our time, Serena Williams. Proud Papa Williams was snapping photos as Serena dominated Vicki Azarenka. She went on to claim the Wimbledon crown, snatching it from the hands of her older sister, Venus, in the final match.
And there was Roger Federer, who moved like a dancer and always seemed able to predict where his opponent's ball would going. His backhand was a thing of beauty. Federer went on to win Wimbledon, defeating our own Andy Roddick. Roddick actually had match point, but shanked an easy backhand overhead shot.
Being there in person, rather than watching the matches on TV, afforded us the privilege of observing some of the traditions up close.
The filing in of the jacket-clad line judges before a match.
Filing onto court of the players.
Keeping the players out of the sun on the change overs.
Passing out of the hats in the VIP section on a sunny afternoon.
Covering the grass court during rain.
Larry's favorite line judge; he was not going to miss a call!
And of course, the souvenir shopping was important.
In 2009, they completed the retractable roof over Centre Court, which allowed play during rain. We were present during the first official closing of the roof; approximately four raindrops fell, and the officials stopped play so the roof could close. It was a truly historic, First World moment.
As I watched the fireworks this July 4, 2015 weekend, I remembered that our Wimbledon adventure was actually over the fourth; we didn't celebrate however. It just didn't seem polite since we were in England and they might still be a bit sensitive to all that independence stuff. Instead, we dressed the part, and enjoyed several heady days overlooking the grass courts and discussing the finer points of that gentlemen's game: tennis.
