I grew up in West Virginia. When I left for college, I took at least 2 years of joking abuse for the way I talked. Because of that, I quickly learned how to undo 18 years of twang. I imagine when I return to Ohio after 2 days in God’s country I’ll have to watch myself. It comes out easier than toothpaste.
“Hi, I’m coming to the Greenbrier for a pickleball clinic and I got instructions on where to enter but I didn’t get info on where to park.”
“I don’t know inythin bout that. Lemme transfur you to security.”
Security? Wow, ok.
“This is Dawnah. How can I help yew.”
“I’m coming for a pickleball clinic from 12-5 and got instructions on where to enter but didn’t get any information on where to park.”
“Well, uh. It dipins on how miny people are stayin the naight. They may let you ihn but they may have you park across the street.”
Hmm. Didn’t I say from 12-5?
“Ok. So do I just pull in and wait for them to tell me if I need to turn around?”
“Yeah. Do that.”
Now, I knew what to do, you see, because I have a brother, Tawd, and a brother A-rick (Todd and Eric). Saying their names the “proper” way is still a challenge for me and to this day when I meet a guy named Todd I have to be very careful with my pronunciation. I’ve had a Tawd in my life since the day I was born and while I hide it, I understand that kind of speak.
When I pulled into the Greenbrier that guy also didn’t know where I was supposed to park. But he gave me a pass and guessed where he thought it would be held. He was right! I walked in and was greeted, not having any idea who was who and what was what. I did know I needed to fill up my water bottle and I apparently wanted someone, anyone, to know I was from West Virginia. It seems like I went out of my way to make sure I told people that, not that they cared.
The clinic was for people to become certified to teach pickleball by the PPR. I’ll not write everything that happened in that clinic here but I will say a few things.
The instructor was an absolute miracle worker. Not because of what she taught. She was a good instructor, I left thinking I knew what I was doing, but she was a miracle worker because of what she put up with from within the class.
I’ve played pickleball for about 5 years. I’ve been intimidated by tennis players, often unintentionally (just my insecurity over not having a tennis background) and certainly intentionally (being excluded because I don’t have a tennis background). I’ve heard all the buzz about tennis players not liking pickleball but I’ve not met anyone passionate about tennis over pickleball. I didn’t and don’t play tennis, so why would I?
At this clinic there were 2 people who absolutely refused to learn how to teach the way we were being taught because they did not believe they needed to teach pickleball differently than tennis. And they argued with the instructor. They talked about her to those who would listen, while she was talking. One of them decided after about 45 minutes he didn’t need to participate anymore, he would just sit there and listen – be an outlet for the other guy to come and complain.
The instructor’s ability to not argue, keep her composure, continue teaching those of us who paid good money to learn, and to still not “give in” to those forcing a fight with her – well it was just remarkable. I hope she is paid well because all of us who really wanted to learn had to work very hard to maintain focus, we had to just hope we were getting it because every free minute she had the arguers were dominating her attention. I think we got our money’s worth (I don’t know if I passed yet – if I didn’t I would totally blame those guys and not the instructor – or myself) but she deserves a bonus.
After the clinic ended I went to a brewery in White Sulphur Springs to grab a local beer and some food but the place was closed. I drove back to Lewisburg, hoping there I would find a bar and some food. As I was driving I realized it was almost 60 degrees, the sun was still up and I could have sworn I saw lights glaring from the area of the pickleball courts. So I drove over there, assuming if there were people playing, no one would hear my stomach growling. There were people playing! I couldn’t believe it. It’s probably the third or fourth time I’ve gone there and it’s always been empty. But on this sunny, warm, nearly spring day it was packed.
Of course it was packed with families and groups of 4 but I managed to sneak in a game since one dude had to leave and the others still wanted to play. They were fairly new to the sport, like most of the people there. They could hit the ball but they were still double checking if they announced the score correctly and they weren’t in the correct court position when receiving the ball. I didn’t care. I just wanted a pickleball game that didn’t require me to think or deal with people in combat mode.
In our game, only 1 guy was right handed. I’ve played a few times at my local rec center when there has been more lefties than righties on the court but ending my day on a court in West Virginia with 3 strangers and the majority of us were left-handed, well that’s about as West Virginia as it gets. I wouldn’t want it any other way.
3 Responses
Nice story. The Pickleball world has it’s share of jerks. Glad you stuck it out and got rewarded with an evening game with some lefties. Good luck in your coaching career.
Enjoyed your Pickleball tale, Lara! I always think of you when I see the game mentioned. So glad you enjoy the sport.
Awesome post. Congratulations!