Hudlow
When I was a kid, my parents played tennis. A lot. All the time. Or so it seemed to me then. I think they started when we lived in Texas. My dad gave up golf at that point, for some reason, and they started playing tennis together. Or maybe they didn't start until Atlanta. Anyway...
The name of the place they played the most in Atlanta was Hudlow. At least, that's what I seem to remember. It was just a tennis center, out in the woods near Chamblee-Tucker. Or was it Jimmy Carter Blvd? Somewhere, out past the supermarket somewhere. If I was there now, I'd probably be able to direct you there, but don't ask me street names.
There was a big clubhouse, set up on a hill, surrounded by pine trees. Because, in Georgia, everything is surrounded by pine trees. Pine trees or red clay. Hudlow had both. And lots of tennis courts. I was probably in 3rd or 4th grade. My parents would play mixed doubles on Saturday or Sunday mornings. They were really the only people with kids my age. Otherwise, it was single people or married people whose spouses didn't play tennis. They'd bring tons of food--Mexican dip, cheese puffs, crackers, coffee cake. I think I first tried guacamole at one of those Saturday morning tennis marathons.
I'd talk to the other players, but mostly I just tried to stay out of the way. Sometimes I'd bring my best friend, Erin. But most of the time, I was by myself, wandering around. I don't think kids get away with that very much these days. Not unless they live out in the country. But I loved it.
There were big piles of railroad ties scattered througout the place. They used the ties originally to serve as barriers around the parking lot, which didn't particularly work that one time that my dad forgot to set the parking brake on the Rabbit and the car rolled down the hill and into the fence around Courts 9,10, 11, and 12. He tried to grab the bumper and physically haul the thing back up onto the pavement as it was rolling. Didn't work.
So the ties. They'd be in big, scattered, haphazard piles in out of the way corners of the place. And the piles had spaces in them. Which I, naturally, turned into forts. Thinking of it now, I'm eerily reminded of the bonfire put on by the Texas Aggies that collapsed and killed a bunch of people. I'm lucky I didn't break my neck. But the ties were pretty sturdy. And I was a lot lighter then than I am now. I'd sit in there with my Barbies or Sweet Treats dolls (Remember? The ones that came in houses shaped like ice cream sodas?) and listen to my walkman, wasting away the hours.
There was a huge magnolia tree there, too, that I spent entire mornings exploring, listening to the waxy leaves brush against each other in the breeze. If Erin was there, she'd take one branch, I'd take another, and we'd practice singing songs from Grease. She always got to be Sandy. I was regulated to Marty, despite the fact that I could sing better than her. She was a middle child, and difficult.
One time I dropped my walkman in the toilet of the clubhouse. I think I lied and told my mom that it just stopped working.
My dad once dragged a woman suffering from heatstroke into the shower there. I remember watching silently as everyone gathered around the door, watching him hold her under the cold water, both of them dressed in tennis whites, still in their shoes.
I recall fighting with someone's daughter, one of the few times there was someone else there my age that I hadn't brought. We were arguing about whether or not people and dinosaurs had lived during the same time. I based my argument on The Flintstones. Smart kid, I was.
I feel bad for kids today. Kids that don't get to wander around somewhere outside, wasting away the hours, living in their own heads for a bit. I went a million different places reading books in my fort under the railroad ties. I concocted a million different daydreams while sitting in that magnolia tree. And I learned to eat guacamole.
The name of the place they played the most in Atlanta was Hudlow. At least, that's what I seem to remember. It was just a tennis center, out in the woods near Chamblee-Tucker. Or was it Jimmy Carter Blvd? Somewhere, out past the supermarket somewhere. If I was there now, I'd probably be able to direct you there, but don't ask me street names.
There was a big clubhouse, set up on a hill, surrounded by pine trees. Because, in Georgia, everything is surrounded by pine trees. Pine trees or red clay. Hudlow had both. And lots of tennis courts. I was probably in 3rd or 4th grade. My parents would play mixed doubles on Saturday or Sunday mornings. They were really the only people with kids my age. Otherwise, it was single people or married people whose spouses didn't play tennis. They'd bring tons of food--Mexican dip, cheese puffs, crackers, coffee cake. I think I first tried guacamole at one of those Saturday morning tennis marathons.
I'd talk to the other players, but mostly I just tried to stay out of the way. Sometimes I'd bring my best friend, Erin. But most of the time, I was by myself, wandering around. I don't think kids get away with that very much these days. Not unless they live out in the country. But I loved it.
There were big piles of railroad ties scattered througout the place. They used the ties originally to serve as barriers around the parking lot, which didn't particularly work that one time that my dad forgot to set the parking brake on the Rabbit and the car rolled down the hill and into the fence around Courts 9,10, 11, and 12. He tried to grab the bumper and physically haul the thing back up onto the pavement as it was rolling. Didn't work.
So the ties. They'd be in big, scattered, haphazard piles in out of the way corners of the place. And the piles had spaces in them. Which I, naturally, turned into forts. Thinking of it now, I'm eerily reminded of the bonfire put on by the Texas Aggies that collapsed and killed a bunch of people. I'm lucky I didn't break my neck. But the ties were pretty sturdy. And I was a lot lighter then than I am now. I'd sit in there with my Barbies or Sweet Treats dolls (Remember? The ones that came in houses shaped like ice cream sodas?) and listen to my walkman, wasting away the hours.
There was a huge magnolia tree there, too, that I spent entire mornings exploring, listening to the waxy leaves brush against each other in the breeze. If Erin was there, she'd take one branch, I'd take another, and we'd practice singing songs from Grease. She always got to be Sandy. I was regulated to Marty, despite the fact that I could sing better than her. She was a middle child, and difficult.
One time I dropped my walkman in the toilet of the clubhouse. I think I lied and told my mom that it just stopped working.
My dad once dragged a woman suffering from heatstroke into the shower there. I remember watching silently as everyone gathered around the door, watching him hold her under the cold water, both of them dressed in tennis whites, still in their shoes.
I recall fighting with someone's daughter, one of the few times there was someone else there my age that I hadn't brought. We were arguing about whether or not people and dinosaurs had lived during the same time. I based my argument on The Flintstones. Smart kid, I was.
I feel bad for kids today. Kids that don't get to wander around somewhere outside, wasting away the hours, living in their own heads for a bit. I went a million different places reading books in my fort under the railroad ties. I concocted a million different daydreams while sitting in that magnolia tree. And I learned to eat guacamole.
posted by Miss Head at
7:36 AM
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