Remembering to Not Judge a Book By Its Cover

A highlight of my week is often my Sunday morning tennis class. The class is typically populated with a mixed group of players of all ages and skill levels, with some regulars and a few "walk-ons,” any of who can alter dynamic or pace of play. My most recent session was filled mostly with the usual suspects with one notable exception: "Andy." 

Andy arrived a few minutes late for our first set of drills and had difficulty figuring his way around our rituals. When the pattern of the drill called for him to more rightward, he moved left. When he was supposed to charge close to the net, he remained back towards the baseline. When he was supposed to exit the court to make way for another player, he remained on and continued to hit. 

Our instructor became visibly frustrated and barked orders in his direction, but Andy was slow to absorb them and appeared confused. Donning thick, oversized sunglasses, baggy sweatpants, and a jogging-suit that enveloped an obvious paunch, Andy was at least 30 years older than the next youngest-player on the court. It’s an understatement to say that he seemed out of place. 

"This is going to be a long two-hours," I said to another player. I quietly wished that he would get off the court, so we could get on with our play. 

A funny thing happened though. After a short while, Andy fell into the rhythm of the drills. He didn't pick up his pace of play, but he didn't need to. The motion of his wrist was precise enough to land the ball wherever he wanted on the opposing court. Unlike the rest of us, who alternated between over-powering the ball out of bounds and driving it clumsily into the net, Andy's every shot landed precisely on the opposing court, usually out-of-reach of his younger, faster opponents. It became clear he was the best athlete on the court. 

He was in total command. 

During one of the breaks, the students in the class formed a circle around Andy and peppered him with questions. How old was he? 80. How long had he been playing? 68 years. How did he get so good? Practice. We learned that in his prime, Andy had been president of his tennis club and had competed internationally in club competitions. He was a real player on a court of full of wannabes. 

Every day we make snap judgments about aging giants like Andy. They don't fit our superficial image of "good." They appear too slow to be effective. And rather than slowing down to let them catch up, we speed beyond them—and leave them behind. And we are the ones who lose out.