When I was a baby I heard my Mom call my Dad by his first name, ‘George.’ His name was was the first word I ever said. I never called him ‘Daddy.’ George enjoyed playing tennis when he was not working or writing on his novel. I was two years old when my Mom dressed me up in a tennis dress. My Dad bought me a childrens ‘Billie Jean King’ tennis raquet. At the time, Billie Jean King was my idol. I soon accompanied him to the local park’s tennis center to practice my game. I was instructed in basic tennis lessons. He would stand at the net and throw tennis balls over for me to hit saying, ‘keep your eye on the ball.’ Later, when he was practicing his serve, I would be the ‘ball girl,’ and run around the courts picking up tennis balls for him. George taught me how to keep score, and we never missed Wimbledon on television.
George played without me of course with his friends who played tennis. I used to watch him when my school and extracurricular activities allowed. I remember being in awe of the tennis pro shop, like only a child can appreciate. I liked to look at the latest racquets and clothing attire.
He was the kind of guy who was not about winning or losing, but enjoying playing the game. The same philosophy he had about playing fair and enjoying life.
Tennis was a bonding experience for us. I became pretty good at the game myself. When I was ten years old, there was a tennis tournament at the local country club on a hot summer day. George asked me to be his doubles partner on the spot. I was caught off guard as all of the players were adults, and I had never played doubles before. I was nervous. I served first, in the blazing hot and humid, Alabama weather. It was an ace serve. I had not noticed the people watching us from the tennis fence perimeter and bleachers. They began clapping, hooting and hollering. I heard a man shout out, “George, where did you find her!” I suddenly became all too aware of the crowd and lost my confidence.
A lady on the opposing team eventually served directly at me and I froze. The ball whizzed past me. I wanted to cry. I was embarrassed. I had missed the shot. I ran over to George and asked him if he could he please find my replacement because I did not want to play anymore. He agreed. Soon after, I had forgotten about the snafu, and was eating a snowcone watching my Dad finish the tournament. He was so supportive of me. He was the kind of guy who was not about winning or losing, but enjoying playing the game. The same philosophy he had about playing fair and enjoying life.
My Dad played football at Marion Military Institute in College. He served in the U.S. Army, and graduated from the University of Alabama.
The next year I began playing tennis at O’Connor Tennis Center in Montgomery, Alabama. I took some professional lessons and enjoyed the game even more. I was dropped off at the center and spent many days on the courts. I was becoming a young lady who was allowed to peruse the pro shop and eat snacks unsupervised. I attended school and had my own part-time job baby sitting by the time I was eleven years old. I became a cheerleader, so tennis became second spot for a short while. Cheerleading was alot of fun for me. My Dad played football at Marion Military Institute in College, and graduated from the University of Alabama. He would volunteer to referee at our school games. I thought he was pretty cool out there calling plays while I was cheering.
My Dad and I had entered a more mature relationship as most fathers and daughters do at the ages of eleven and twelve years old. Daddy’s Girl pulls away from her father and goes her own way. I was no exception as I was beginning to grow up and had other interests. George and I shared interests like music, World War II., old movies, reading the comics on Sunday, books, art and our love of animals. He had been a speechwriter for NASA Marshall Space Flight Center in Redstone Arsenal near Huntsville, Alabama. George did not mind admitting he believed there were life forms other than the ones on planet earth. I remember when he asked me to go see the movie “Raging Bull” at the theatre. I said, “no, Im going to hang out with Vivian.” I regret that decision to this day.
My Dad was of Mvskoke Native American Indian descent.
George had his friends too. He had a group of friends who collected British sportscars and he bought a 1975 Triumph TR-7. It was a fast, wedge shaped, aerodynamic two-seater hardtop. Triumph Burgundy Color. Most of my friends told me they wished my Dad was their Dad. He was just George to me. I had known him for twelve years, so I was used to his personality. He was fun. It was like we were brother and sister sometimes. He had a quality of still being a goofy young boy at heart. Once he and his friend Andy, snuck myself and my best friend in sixth grade Vivian, into Pratt Hall at Huntingdon College. We went up the back stairs, hoping to to catch a glipse of ‘The Red Lady.’ We did not see anything, but we sure had a good time being scared!
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Red_Lady_of_Huntingdon_College
My Dad was of Mvskoke Native American Indian descent. He had dark brown hair, but it appeared black most of the time. He had a dark olive complexion and dark brown eyes. Once I was asked at school if my Dad was Puerto Rican? I did not know, so when I saw him that night I asked him, ‘George are you Puerto Rican?’ I told him some kids at school asked me. He sat me down and explained my Mvskoke Native American heritage. Nothing else was mentioned, and I never thought of it again. I never thought of him looking ‘different’ than other people.
It was a beautiful day, and the azaleas were already in bloom.
The last time we played tennis together it was in early spring. The date was Sunday, March 22, 1981. I was wearing my new Señorita Cortez Nike’s I had begged my Mom to get me. We rode in his Triumph TR-7 to the tennis courts near our home in Cloverdale at Huntingdon College. A college I would attend one day. I had taken up photography, so I brought my camera along. We played for a few hours and took photos then drove back home. The music in the car was playing loud, just like we both liked it. It was a beautiful day, and the azaleas were already in bloom. The early azalea bloom is something that happens in Alabama in the spring only if the weather has been warm and a hard freeze has not killed the blooms.
I had no idea in my young mind, on that perfect day, it would be the last time we would ever play tennis together.
– The Peppermint Unicorn 🍬🦄
The Peppermint Unicorn 
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