Category: Humor

Mom and Dad got married when they were 19 years old and they lived in the married dorms at the University of Florida while they both went to school. It was a small efficiency. A single space with a kitchen, living area, and bedroom all in one. It had another feature typical of low-cost housing, very thin walls.

One night, as Mom and Dad were going to bed, they heard a guitar blaring through the wall. It was the early 1970s. Everyone was into rock & roll and the college kid living next door was no exception. It was well past midnight, so Dad banged on the wall to hopefully let the guitar hero know that he was being too loud. No response, other than continued guitar slaying. Dad banged again, harder. Nothing. Then a third time, he really hammered and banged against the wall. The only response was obnoxious shredding like there was no tomorrow.

At this point in the story, one common reaction would be to call the police with a noise complaint. That’s happened to pretty much every garage band kid practicing at their parent’s house, including me. Dad wasn’t one to call the police though. He was someone brought up in a time when neighbors knew each other personally. Neighbors didn’t just live next to each other, they were a part of the same community that shared life with each other. In that context, calling the police was reserved for the most extreme situations, so Dad was someone who always tried to resolve conflicts in person. We have continued this in our lives, so when we saw 2 pigs, 2 goats, and a cow trotting around our front yard one night, we knew exactly which neighbor to call.

In this instance, in a college dorm, Dad had the same mindset. Repeatedly hammering on the wall hadn’t worked. It was close to 1 AM. They were trying to get to sleep and it seemed like Greg, the neighbor, was of a mind to “rock and roll all night.” There was only one option. Dad had to go next door and loudly knock until the door finally opened. “Greg, it’s late! We’re trying to get to sleep. Can you tone it down?”

As is usually the case, talking man to man resolved the issue quickly. Greg was extremely polite and apologetic. “No problem Rob, but hey, next time I’m too loud just bang on the wall.”

For as long as I remember, one of Dad’s favorite sports was racquetball. I think he picked it up in the Navy. The first courts I played in were in a standalone building on base. A sidewalk along one side, with little hobbit doors, opened into dark, cavernous spaces. We’d choose one and he’d turn on the fluorescent lights. Once they flickered into luminescence the door shut behind us and we were in our own world. Dad’s world. The court was his domain. He reigned supreme. I played him countless times. I never won.

When he was on active duty he played multiple times per week. The Navy gave him 2 hours for lunch if he used it for PT (physical training.) He became a good player with all those hours on the court. After he retired he would go to the base or the YMCA and play pickup games every week. He delivered and received his share of donut shaped bruises from getting hit in the back with the ball. One time the ball hit a guy right at the base of the skull so hard that it knocked him off his feet. The guy said he felt paralyzed for a second. A few minutes later he was back out there like nothing had happened. Ah, the good ‘ole days.

Oftentimes, he’d leave before 7 am and be gone all morning. He’d play for 2 hours, and then talk for 2 more. Those folks were part of his community. Racquetball was a big part of his life. He even coaxed Mom onto the court quite a few times to play. His social media feed was filled with racquetball tidbits, like this:

Racquetball in the early morning hours is a good thing. We need to do things that pump the heart and move the body. God made us that way.

Dad was able to see lessons and truths in everyday life. He saw God’s hand at work in the way bees organized their hives. His student’s curiosity was an example of how God designed us to learn and grow. Racquetball also had some truths to teach us.

Racquetball has a mental aspect to it. If you think you can win, that mindset helps you go forward. Got to watch out for pride though.

He was so skilled that it created a problem for him. One of the primary reasons he enjoyed playing was for the exercise, but he wasn’t able to get much of a workout when he played against mere mortals. So he devised a handicap for himself. He started playing left-handed.

That’s how he played against me and my brothers at first. We were all racquetball weaklings, not fit to strap on goggles compared to his unrestrained power with the ball and racquet. Eventually, we got good enough that he would play us right-handed because he didn’t like to lose. I beat him at the Regent University gym. He switched hands and destroyed me. I never beat him right-handed. Grant doesn’t think he ever beat him one-on-one either. Mark, the young stud of the family, claims that he was winning 30%-50% of the time when Dad played right-handed. Mark also makes dubious claims about his Crossfit prowess, so take that with a grain of salt. Clay thinks he won a few times when Dad was in his 60s. Great job beating down an old man riddled with cancer, Clay.

From what I can tell, based on Dad’s tweets from 2009, Clay wasn’t always so successful.

Racquetball at the YMCA Riverside. Will whomp up on Clay some.

Next tweet.

Playing racquetball. Beat Clay 3 X

Dad’s best racquetball story stemmed from an encounter at the YMCA. They had a challenge court set up. You signed your name on the sheet and played whoever was next. Dad was playing someone he’d never seen before and the other guy didn’t look very athletic. Dad decided to play left-handed but found himself falling behind. In between points he stopped play, smiled at his opponent as he slowly took off his left glove, and said, “You are quite good, but I know something you don’t know.”

The guy was perplexed by the theatrical display but responded, “What’s that?”

Dad slowly put on his right-handed glove, gripped his racquet, and replied, “I am not left-handed.”

Unfortunately for the other guy, this isn’t like the movies, and he wasn’t able to switch hands himself. Dad proceeded to dismantle him and of course, win convincingly. I imagine that guy now, regaling folks with a crazy story about the guy he played who switched hands mid-game. Dad was a legend.