I was a bad boy back in the day. I had talent, at least that’s what people said. “You can be as good as anyone out here if you put in the work… AND IF YOU CAN CONTROL YOUR TEMPER.” I did get mad at myself if I missed a shot. Very mad. Too mad. I was a kid who needed help. Did anyone help me? Maybe once if I remember correctly. I ended my competitive tennis playing days with the realization I would not make it as a professional after competing in a pro tournament where I won a match, then lost to a former top-100 ranked player. For the first time I showed maturity toward the game by making the right choice. A game I abused because of the kid-in-need I once was.
I came home to get help because off the court I needed help as well. But then I found that I was pretty good at teaching tennis. Being a part of a process transforming a person’s physical movements into something they could understand helping them improve, was uplifting. I received compliments. I received pay increases. I was on my way because everyone in my Long Island town knew who I was and for the first time in my tennis life, I was respected. The whispers of my prowess were not because of the rackets I broke but because of the games I fixed.
But teaching tennis was not going to be my career. I definitely could have done it, but my mother—who on paper was a better tennis player than me—said I owe myself more to my life than just being a tennis pro. So off to the real world I went, though I kept my tennis teaching certification throughout the years and worked in various sales jobs.
We moved to a lovely suburban town north of NYC and the whispers of my tennis experience began to circulate. “Weren’t you once that guy, that tennis guy, who…” “Yes I was and how can I help you?” It started with some weekend lessons. Then some afterschool lessons. Then I would go to people next to the court where I was teaching and asked if they wanted some free advice. I was hooked. I love teaching tennis!
When my town’s recreation department needed to fill a void after losing their adult evening tennis instructor due to his retirement, I accepted the offer and began my decade-long commitment. From there, I taught every age and ability level the game of tennis could throw my way. From the youngest beginner to the best-in-town, and even Special Olympic athletes, I taught them all and was so fortunate to be a part of their love for the game. And I have to be honest, but hearing Ivy-League graduates tell me that I’m one of the best teachers they have learned from was pretty good for the ego. The bad boy had turned into an honorable man, and the sport I once took for granted was now something I treated with care.
However throughout the years, teaching tennis may have had an unfortunate impact on me: my body was falling apart. First, my right knee…surgery. Then my left knee…surgery. Then my right knee again…surgery. I taught in pain. People noticed, but it didn’t stop me. My favorite part-time hobby was the best for both my mind and soul because it helped me feel like the best me. But “Father Time” has recently added tears to both of my shoulders. Really? Hey, I’m just trying to help some people here. Can’t you take it easy on me? Was it all the abuse I took out on this sport as an angry kid and now karma has arrived for the payback? Hasn’t all this teaching and goodwill that I have provided been enough to show I did handle tennis with care and it shouldn’t be taken away from me? I think it did. But unfortunately, it’s time for me to take a break.
Are people going to miss me? I do think so, and it’s beyond pressing on my mind because I never want to let anyone down who has come to rely on me. But am I going to miss them? Have you ever seen Sam, both a mother and Harvard graduate, hit overheads and ask for more because nothing gives her more pleasure on the court than slamming some tennis balls? Have you ever watched Lisa do her happy dance while waiting in line, then kick up her leg in fear that she might get hit by the oncoming ball and still awkwardly return the shot? Have you ever seen Sarah and Kev, a married couple who play on different days, with adolescent spirit, try to bounce a ball into my basket with a similar back-handed toss of the ball? Have you ever seen Jane, a player who has been in my beginner class for the past three years, not care what her ability level is, and walk on and off the court with the biggest smile on her face? Have you witnessed Anu and Katrina look at their Fitbit at the end of the hour-long lesson to make sure they achieved their goal of burning 300-calories, and if they didn’t, comically demand another 20-ball drill so I could help them cross their finish line? Have you ever seen Carlie and Marc or Lauren and Nader or Caitlin and Bob or Inna and Matt look at their phones in fear they might have to leave their favorite hour-of-escape to go back home and rescue the babysitter? Have you ever seen Adam beg me to stay on the courts until the lights turned off at 10 pm, to work with him and his crew of strong players, because playing games I came up with like “Blitzkrieg” or “Fight Club” was more fun than a simple game of doubles? Have you ever met Rosy, a player who helped me develop a team competition where I immortalized her name and designed a “Rosy Bowl” logo, which I had printed on T-shirts and were given to players who wanted one? Have you ever had the privilege to work with the best recreation department a town could ask for? And lastly, have you ever seen me, in the middle of all this joy that tennis brings to my students, walk on the court ready to be an integral part of their tennis experience, only to have me, three hours later, bring the basket of balls back to the shed hoping no one would see that my legs were stiff and I was in pain? I have seen me. And I have embraced me. And now a favorite part of me is being taken away because of my injuries.
I have taught in pain for a long time, disregarding what my family, friends, and doctors have told me to stop doing. I didn’t listen. Remember, I was once a bad boy on the tennis court who did whatever he wanted, regardless of the ramifications. I was a kid who needed help. But now as an adult who knows he needs help to improve upon things that are in his control, I am taking myself away from a sport which is unlike any other sport that I have been a part of, because tennis makes you feel like the best kid that you can be. Thank you tennis. I’m going to miss you for a little bit. But you know all I want to do is get back out on the court and feed some balls to Sam and watch her slam an overhead at Lisa who will kick her leg up in fear she might get hit by the ball, or to Jane who will do the best she can to return the shot with a big smile on her face. I know I’m making the right choice and I will do the best I can to see you soon. As I always say, ROSY BOWL FOREVER!!
Andy Kossowsky, a part-time tennis professional and a full-time tennis enthusiast, has lived in Irvington with his wife and their son for 20 years.
