: : home     : : reviews     : : days gone by     : : who?     : : contact     : : nobel reading project     : : photos    

9 september 2002

14

Fourteen. Count them--fourteen grand slam victories for Pete Sampras. No doubt one of the best tennis matches I've ever seen for its athleticism, grace under pressure, grace in victory and defeat, and importance to the sport of tennis.

For those of you who didn't watch the US Open this weekend, you missed an outstanding men's final between Andre Agassi and Pete Sampras. As I sat glued to this match--and did you notice it, too?--I couldn't help but feel simultaneously pummelled and delighted over the whole "you're watching two living legends play!"

Legends? Pardon me, aren't these dudes, like, 31 and 32? Are you technically allowed to be alive and a legend at the same time? Or, don't you have to be officially old or something? Just saying.

Which gets me to thinking about how I, and the sports I like, and how I cheer for them have changed over the years. It used to be that women's sports were for women, and men's sports were for men. As in, people who have passed through puberty.

When I was a young teenager, I of course was all for whippersnappers like myself giving a good, sporting beat-down to senior citizens in their late twenties. You had Chris Evert, Tracy Austin, and Jennifer Capriati. You had a 19-year-old Sampras mowing down the competition with the likes of Agassi. They were young, indominable, and gave kids like me someone of a fathomable age to admire. I had no illusions of becoming a great athlete in any sport, but I was convinced that my youth was no roadblock to being successful.

For a kid, teenager, and young adult, I guess I was reasonably successful at...stuff. When I was ten, I became the youngest spelling bee champion that our county had ever produced. Me, this skinny little fourth-grader, took down a whole bunch of way-bigger-than-me eighth graders. (I had a little help from the word "ennui", which eliminated about five of them. Will I ever misspell that word? Doubt it.) It was a funny little victory, people making a big deal over the whole age thing. I just figured all those late nights that Mom stayed up and studied the words with me had paid off. I don't know that I was particularly precocious; I was just a competitive perfectionist. I didn't need help developing these traits. In fact, Mom was like, "you know, you're still a neat kid if you don't come in first place. Or get a B occasionally. Or whatever."

Which, of course, went in one ear and out the other. Mmph.

So here I sit, watching living legends of my own generation. Which got me to thinking about the Winter Olympics this year, particularly Picabo Street and Michele Kwan. I have to admit that ice skating makes me want to throw things at the television set; skiing I like a lot more, probably because that's something I can actually do with some grace. Throughout the Olympics, these ridiculous announcers are holding these two young women up as OLD. Street got an even worse deal because she was old, and also recovering from injuries. Kwan, ready for pureed food at the ripe old age of 22 or something, is regarded as an utter washout because she got upset by another teenager. It doesn't matter that she won every major skating event of the year for, you know, EVER. She "bombed" at the Olympics, and still took home a medal. They'd be scraping me up with a Zamboni within minutes of taking the ice.

And now, those same teenagers for whom I used to cheer, well...now they make me a little crabby.

I admit it. I'm cheering for my fellow fogies. Just like when we were kids, watching successful people of our own generation give us something of a measure. Instead of "we can be prodigies," though, it's more along the lines of "we can persevere".

And so I do. While these "living legends" (and me, for that matter) are far from being old, I'm getting pretty cozy with the idea of people redefining themselves and their generations. As the years go by, there are few things I like more than reading stories of senior citizens who totally kick ass. I wish I could remember her name, this woman I read about this year who travels the world at the age of 74--and has since she was in her 50's, when her husband died. Her motto? "Travel light, travel cheap, travel alone."

I think that when we were kids, we were justified in believing that the moon was within reach. If you were lucky, your parents and teachers laid the universe at your feet and said, "Here. Take your pick." Part of being young is believing that everything is a possibility. It's wonderful, that. My world was diverse: I sang, enjoyed theatre opportunities, explored gymnastics (not a good choice after the four-inch growth spurt), ran the mile, won the science fair, and kept my butt in the first chair of the flute section for years. I suppose in the back of my mind, I knew that I couldn't sustain that level of activity as an adult--but it was sure fun testing all those different waters.

For now, the decisions I've made thus far have been pretty darn satisfying. I don't question too many of them, because even the lousy ones had a lesson in there somewhere. I don't get all angsty anymore over the idea of "having it all," because you know what? I can't have it all. Or maybe I can, just not at the same time. My competitive, ambitious spirit is still very much alive. I just chose to add some life in there. Some regular old, coffee-drinking, chatting with friends on Saturday night at the jazz club, laying-low life.

Even more importantly, somewhere along the line it stopped being entirely about me. I started reaching into my community and making my life matter in ways that sometimes don't even garner a "thank you", much less certificates of achievement. Do I wonder what I might leave behind? Sure, all writers do. But for now, I'm leaving that for people who enjoy digging through attics. I'm here to make the moment matter, to sign my name to the day.

It's not that any of us give up reaching for the moon. I think that, if we're smart, we just learn to focus more diligently on it after years of burning our fingers on all those surrounding stars.