Bea and Leo entered their first-ever tennis tournament today. The prize for the winner of the tournament was to play with Rafa and Federer when they come over for the Capitala Tennis Tournament at the end of the year.
I realised very quickly neither of my two were in the running. They were (bless them) comfortably the worst players there. I think some of the nine-year olds would have beaten me. But there was one glimmer of hope….the raffle.
The raffle would draw two names who would also get to play the two stars, but it meant staying until the very end of the tournament even though we were being humiliated on court.
There aren’t many things that will entice me to hang around a hot, humid tennis court without a drink in sight. But the potential prize was far too big to give up on. Just imagine, I kept thinking, if we win. And we have more chance than most as there are two of them in the raffle. I mean whoever wins will have to be accompanied by their mother, right?
Finally after almost four hours, the moment arrived. As the first name was drawn out of the hat my heart sank. How stupid of me to waste a whole morning and to put them through all this hanging around. I never win anything and it seems genetically unlikely that my children will.
The first name was disqualified for not being there. Another name was called out – Patricia Wright. No one answered. Suddenly I realised it was Beatrice Wright they meant, I leapt to my feet:
“It’s you Bea, it’s you!” I yelled like the worst possible football mum.
Bea went to the front to be congratulated, beaming. She (and I) were on a high for the rest of the day, and will possibly remain high for another week. After the tennis we went to the cinema to see Michael Jackson’s This is It. A woman in front of us wept through the whole thing, the girls, who had heard Janet was in town for the Grand Prix, asked if she was his sister. She was not, she was just a bereaved fan. Sad as we are about Jacko’s demise, nothing could wipe the smile off our faces.
The lucky winner is asleep next to me as I write and has promised to practice her tennis before her big match. I am going to work out how to use my video camera and plan my outfit. I’m not sure which is more stressful. But I am extremely happy that my genetic predisposition for never winning anything has not been passed on to Baby Bea. As Rupes said, Napoleon would approve, he liked his generals to be lucky.
Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2009