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.

Carlos, a businessman, is tall, with a lively face. His son Paco isn’t as tall as his father, but his long arms and legs suggest he’ll still grow taller. Whenever Paco isn’t concentrating on his smartphone, he can be seen in scuba gear (水中呼吸装置). It is through this hobby that he bonds with his dad.

Paco, who is 14, is the second oldest among Carlos’ children: Javier, 21, Adriana, 10, and Carolina, 6.“I try to find common ground between me and my kids. I find something we all have in common, and then go from there,” says Carlos.“It’s all different with each of them. My eldest doesn’t like diving like Paco. So, for example, if they like games, I approach talking with them through their games, and then go from there. It’s just being there for them, listening to them, and knowing their problems and anxieties. You just need to let them know you’re there for them.“

For Carlos and Paco, it was diving, a hobby that the former started in 1997 when his dad bought a boat and decided to buy scuba gear for the whole family. “I got certified (获得认证) with my brother Richie. It was an on and off thing with diving,” Carlos shares. “Three years ago, I learned that Paco wanted to study how to dive as well, which gave me a reason to go back to diving.

“We even got certified for the advanced open water course together. That’s how committed we are to diving,“ Carlos says.“Hanging out with my dad is really fun because we get to create a lot of memories. Also, he always lets me have as much food as I want, so that’s a plus,” Paco adds. The two then talked about some of their best trips together when diving.“The most unforgettable one for me was our five-day Visayan live-aboard dive trip. The sights were excellent, and it was three dives a day, so we went underwater to our heart’s content. What else could I ask for?“ says Carlos.

It was in 1965 when I was 6 years old that my family moved to Elmont. It was a wonderful place to grow up. There were lots of kids, great schools and we had a big yard. Having grown up a city kid, my father, Nicholas Denaro, believed that grass was not just to look at, but that children were meant to play on it. We played games and badminton there. A white fence separated our backyard from a small wood. My friends and I enjoyed jumping the fence and climbing trees.

My father had the most amazing hand. He could fix anything. He gave those amazing hands to his son, my younger brother, Frank, who also became handy around the house. But my father saved his green fingers for me. He grew flowers, tomatoes, strawberries and figs and he shared his love of gardening with me.

Fourteen years ago, my husband and I went to a local nursery and bought a fig tree for Dad for Father's Day. My mother, Bridget Denaro, called it the best gift I could have given him. He planted it exactly in the middle of the front yard.

He loved that tree and enjoyed delicious figs every year, except just after Sandy hit in 2012. He was so disappointed when cold weather just after the superstorm froze all the remaining figs.

In 2015, my father died of lung cancer at 97. We sold our family home of 61 years last year. We left behind Dad's tree, full of figs waiting to ripen. We briefly considered taking it with us, but decided that his Father's Day fig tree belonged in Elmont. The new owners generously allowed me to take some branches so that I could have a precious reminder of my much-loved father and the Elmont home.