What is a pickle, if not a cucumber persevering

This was a recent tweet from David W. Peters and I thought it was hilarious (not because of the WandaVision reference, but because the idea of a patient cucumber really entertains me). Regardless, it inspired a loosely related topic for a post: pickle ball.

I was in Taiwan last year and during the time I was gone, pickle ball became a thing that everyone I know is doing. After a few weeks of nagging, we agreed to go play with my parents, who live just a few miles down the road.

They beat us, solidly. I couldn’t serve the ball in bounds (and the bounds are big). Grey hair flying, my folks trotted around the court, sending the ball consistently over the net. Meanwhile, I kept accidentally getting my fingers hit due to poor positioning. My boyfriend, more competitive than me by far, kept slamming the ball. Into the net. With such confidence.

Tonight we took advantage of the nicer weather and played some evening games. There were many pauses for work-related complaints, catching up on the vaccination adventures of grandparents, tentative suggestions for spring break plans. My mom, who is a confusing mixture of intensity and silliness, broke down laughing (about nothing) mid-point several times, which made her mess up, then laugh harder, then mess up again. My dad was pleased with himself for figuring out just how to lob the ball over my head – too high to reach by jumping and just barely in bounds for me to chase after.

There was a lot of celebratory shouting (whooping, really) after each game. Some spiteful comments and some strong language surfaced; people got riled up (at one point my mom threatened to take back the home cooked meal she had brought us). The last game was close – a tie that we just barely turned into a win (best two out of three). Neither parent threw their paddle or took away dinner, but as we made plans to play again this coming weekend, I knew that they were both thinking about revenge.