When I suggested my 13-year-old try tennis, she quickly shot me down. “I’m not sporty , so stop trying to get me to do sports,” Julianna said. I suggested it because some of my recent happiest memories were of playing ping-pong with her. Tennis seemed like a natural progression from ping-pong and a great way to work out some of her growing teen worries on a larger playing field. But my suggestion was always met with resistance.

Still, I was undeterred. I was convinced that releasing some physical energy would help Julianna. I’ve seen how sports help deal with stress. It worked for me when I was a teenage girl.

Midway through summer, we stayed at home one afternoon, really bored. “Do you want to play tennis?” I asked. “Sure,” she said. Arriving at the court, we set down our bags, picked up our rackets (球拍), and headed towards our sides of the court. The net felt like the visual representation of a growing divide between us I desiring a connection and my teenage daughter longing for independence.

I started by hitting a ball over the net, and Julianna took a big swing and missed. We repeated this several more times. I resisted the urge to tell her she was holding the racket too close to the neck or to step more into her forehand. We just repeated the pattern of me hitting the ball and her missing it a few times before she finally got it back over the net. “This is fun,” she said with a mixture of surprise and joy and then she smiled widely.

Now we always find time to play tennis. We’re both eager for an activity that can ease tensions between us in daily life. It’s nice to have a place where both of us can release our negative feelings and let them go.

Just before Christmas in 1994, a letter arrived at our house. The postmark was from Tuskegee, Alabama, so we all knew who it was from. We excitedly gathered around mother as she opened it.

I didn’t get the leave I expected for Christmas. I’ll miss all of you. Please leave the Christmas tree up until I make it back. I hope to be home by March.

Love from your son,

Clifton

My heart sank. I felt extreme sadness that my favorite brother wouldn’t be home for Christmas. My mother, being the optimist she always was, said, “Well, it looks like we’ll get to have two Christmases this year!”

After Christmas, my sister and I worked together to make sure we kept that Christmas tree looking as pretty as possible. This was no easy feat. By mid-January, the branches drooped so low to the ground. Each day, ornaments would come crashing to the ground and there were brand new sprinklings of pine needles all over the wooden floor. My sister and I took turns sweeping them up. We repositioned the ornaments to the stronger branches on the tree, hoping they would stay on.

Each time we freshened that tree up, my sister and I were full of thoughts about Clifton and how happy we would be to see him again. It made us feel that he was close by, even though he was hundreds of miles away.

On March 5, the doorbell rang. We ran to the door and gave Clifton a big hug. As he hugged mother, I could see him peek over her head at the Christmas tree.

“It’s beautiful,” he said. “Thank you.” Clifton opened his presents and told us all sorts of stories about his work in Tuskegee. That night as we slept, we heard a crash in the living room. We all ran to see what had happened. The tree had toppled onto the sofa and there were needles and broken ornaments everywhere. We all had a good laugh. It was fortuitous (巧合的) Clifton got home when he did.

It came around to Frank to tell us of his childhood. “I grew up in San Pedro. My Dad was a fisherman, and he loved the sea. He had his own boat, but it was hard making a living on the sea. He worked hard and would stay out until he caught enough to feed the family.” He looked at us and said, “He was a big man, and he was strong from pulling the nets and fighting the seas for his catch. When you got close to him, he smelled like the ocean.”

Frank’s voice dropped a bit. “When the weather was bad he would drive me to school. He had this old truck that he used in his fishing business. That truck was older than he was. You could hear it coming for blocks. As he would drive toward the school, I would shrink (畏缩) down into the seat hoping to disappear. Half the time, he would slam to a stop and the old truck would belch (喷出) a cloud of smoke, and it seemed like everybody would be standing around and watching. Then he would lean over and give me a big kiss on the cheek and tell me to be a good boy. It was so embarrassing for me. Here, I was twelve years old, and my Dad would lean over and kiss me goodbye!”

He paused and then went on, “I remember the day I decided I was too old for a goodbye kiss. When we got to the school and came to a stop, he had his usual big smile. He started to lean toward me, but I put my hand up and said, “No, Dad.” It was the first time I had ever talked to him that way, and he had this surprised look on his face. I said, “Dad, I’m too old for a goodbye kiss. I’m too old for any kind of kiss.” My Dad looked at me for the longest time, and his eyes started to tear up. Then he turned and looked out the windshield. “You’re right,” he said. “You are a big boy....a man. I won’t kiss you anymore.”

Frank got a funny look on his face, and the tears began to well up in his eyes, as he spoke. “It wasn’t long after that when my Dad went to sea and never came back. It was a day when most of the fleet (船队) stayed in, but not Dad. He had a big family to feed. They found his boat adrift with its nets half in and half out. He must have gotten into a strong wind and was trying to save the nets and the floats.”

I looked at Frank and saw that tears were running down his cheeks. Frank spoke again. “Guys, you don’t know what I would give to have my Dad give me just one more kiss on the cheek…to feel his rough old face… to smell the ocean on him… to feel his arm around my neck. I wish I had been a man then. If I had been a man, I would never have told my Dad I was too old for a goodbye kiss.”