By Blair Henley | Monday, March 10, 2014

Tennis parents are a notorious bunch. They have made a name for themselves in the sports world at large, far beyond tennis circles where they roam freely in local parks and beyond. Just about everyone has heard tales of unrelenting moms and dads who will stop at nothing to see their child succeed on the court. As a result, the term “tennis parent” has become synonymous with familial dysfunction.

As a junior player growing up in the highly competitive USTA Florida section, I saw parents illegally coaching from the sidelines, cheering obnoxiously when their child won a point and yelling even louder when they lost. After winning a particularly tough 16-and-under match, I heard that my opponent’s father would remove her bedroom door from its hinges after a defeat. When she lost a match, she lost her right to privacy. Another father was banned from several tournament sites after he tied his son to a tree (with a jump rope) and hit balls at him as punishment following a loss. Then there was the mother berating her son after an on-court drubbing. “You’re like a crab,” she hissed. “You’re always going backwards!”

Stories like these stick with you in a gum-on-your-shoe sort of way. And that’s unfortunate. You see, growing up in the tennis world with tennis parents isn’t all unattainable expectations and psychological abuse. Sure, some kids want to toss their racquet in the nearest dumpster as soon as they leave home. But plenty of others depart with a deep love of the game that they, in turn, can share with their future children.

In addition to being a tennis parent, my father was also my coach. We were both acutely aware of the potential pitfalls of that arrangement, but perhaps miraculously, he taught me how to play the game, one-handed backhand and all, without tainting my experience. Don’t get me wrong – we had our share of showdowns on the practice court. But they never stemmed from pressure my father placed on me. On the contrary, most of our disputes arose as a result of my often (er, always) unreasonable expectations. He wanted to me to “enjoy the process.” I, on the other hand, wasn’t so much interested in the process as the wins that went along with it.

Though my dad put in the hours on court, it was my mother who took me to my tournaments. She would sit silently on the sidelines, reading a book or jotting down to-do lists in between points. I never once heard her cheer me on during a match, but I’m confident it wasn’t for a lack of pride. She just didn’t find it appropriate in the context of a kids’ game. And she was right.  

I would go on to play college tennis, which further shaped life as I know it. My dad had long since passed the coaching reins to outside sources, but I still called him when I was shanking my forehand or dumping backhand slices into the net. Without fail he would ask, “Are you seeing the seams of the ball?” As much as I hated that question (“Of course I’m watching the ball!” I would answer), that’s often all I needed to hear.  I trusted him above anyone else, which speaks to his expertise as well as his approach to my tennis game: father first, coach second.

Tennis as a Family Affair

Though I moved away from my South Florida stomping grounds years ago, my dad and I always find time to hit some balls when I come for a visit. We generally stay away from practice sets (for good reason), but we’re known to grind out a few 11-point games. We’ve competed in several national father/daughter tournaments, finally getting our hands on a pair of gold balls in 2009. In fact, the USTA offers several family tournaments including father/son and husband/wife combinations. What other sport allows you to compete recreationally with your loved ones?

During the Golden Age of tennis in the 1970s and 80s, parents across the country were eager to push their children, willingly or otherwise, toward the game in hopes that they would become the next Jimmy Connors or John McEnroe. Much to the dismay of tennis pundits, that enthusiasm has dwindled, leaving the American talent pool looking more like a Tennie Two Step. But what American tennis has lost in professional prospects, it has gained in lifelong tennis lovers.

In my post-collegiate tennis teaching career, I’ve seen the court become a destination for family fun, rather than a lonely battleground for child warriors where Mom and Dad pace nervously on the sidelines. Family tournaments on the country club level are often better attended than any others. Parents and their kids – those unsullied by unhealthy tennis-related pressures – jump at a chance to play a sport alongside one another.

According to the 2013 TIA/USTA Participation Study, there are 5.8 million children under age 18 playing tennis in America today. It may be more noteworthy to hear about a father who uses his handyman skills to punish his teenage daughter after a loss, but I’m certain the self-aware, soft-spoken tennis parents outnumber the alternative. The parents who can look beyond a single win or loss and focus on their child’s long-term development aren’t quite as notable as the verbally abusive ones – but they should be.

Tennis crafted my character like nothing else could, teaching me to deal with losses as well as wins, building intensity and discipline along the way. Consider all of that lost if my parents pressured me into competing and belittled me after my inevitable failures. They gave me a gift, and they, along with the host of other tennis parents who don’t fit the typical “tennis parent” mold, deserve more credit.