I Lost Tennis Match but Gained ‘Free Man’ for Son

Published September 7, 1989. Susan and I had another transitional moment in our family last week. We sent our third child, Brian, off to college. His older sister, Tammy, enjoyed BYU-Hawaii so much last year that Brian decided to go there his first year of college. On Monday morning, we drove him to the Salt Lake Airport and met dozens of other families there with their sons and daughters all bound for the BYU-Hawaii campus.

On the way to the airport, Brian mentioned that the past week had been an unusual one for him. There were moments of irritation as the other kids started bargaining for his room and what few earthly treasures he would leave behind. To thwart the takeover, he managed to take nearly everything he owned.

The morning we left home for the airport there seemed to be tears shed by some family members and muffled moments of glee from others as we loaded Brian and his bulging suitcases in the car and started for the airport. Brian noted on the way how uncomfortable he had been hugging both older and younger brothers when he left. But it was over, and he was excited about flying to Hawaii.

Before Brian left there were genuine gestures made by all family members on Brian’s behalf. The day-to-day hassles and competition of living in a large family seemed to be momentarily set aside as we prepared to send off a family member. And Susan and I worried. How would he survive on BYU-Hawaii campus without us there to constantly tell him to clean his room? Would anyone over there listen to his obnoxious “raps”? And why was he so interested in taking two new swim suites and had absolutely no concern whatsoever with the condition or cleanliness of his Sunday suit?

Two days before Brian left he asked me to play tennis with him. We had played off and on during the summer and, to put it mildly, I usually beat him – badly. But we had not played for a few weeks, and during the interim Brian had taken tennis lessons.

When he asked for one last match I told him I was really busy on a writing project. But Brian insisted. He said we “had” to play one more time. He was quite intent about it, so I agreed. I found my racquet in the closet, and off we went to the tennis court in his ’83 Plymouth Colt, which now has logged more than 100,000 miles. On the way, I suggested the Colt needed a tune-up and the front end aligned. Brian said it didn’t matter anymore, since Jon, his younger brother, would be taking over the Colt after he left, I thanked him for the insight.

The match proved to be another transition for father and son. Sort of a rite of passage. I have never seen Brian play with such intensity. His serve was nearly impossible to return as he served ace after ace. He said he simply had to win. And he did – 6.3 – after breaking my serve on the eighth game.

When he won that final volley and the match, he was exuberant. “Dad,” he said, “Now I can leave for college!” (I knew that college entrance standards had gone up but I didn’t realize a student was required to beat his parents in tennis before he was accepted.)

We got back in his Colt and rattled toward home. “I’m free,” he grinned. “I’m a man. I can leave home.” I congratulated Brian on his tennis skills but silently wondered about his intellectual rationale on what constitutes manliness. “It will be so-o-o good to be on my own,” he said. “I can’t wait.”

When we arrived home, I finally got the door open on the Colt with a little extra effort, got out and walked toward the house, “Dad,” he said in a slightly different tone, “Can I borrow a few bucks until my check from Osco (where he worked) gets here?” I hesitated for a moment, still amazed at his new-found liberation and recent independence.

After the pause I said, “Sure, Brian, how much do you need?”