Billie Jean King

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Billie Jean King, Civil Rights, Community, Gratitude, Growing up gay, Presidential election, Six Degrees of Separation, Tennis, Women's and men's professional tennis tours

These days, at the most prestigious tennis tournaments in the world, Billie Jean King has a seat of honor, at Wimbledon often in the Royal Box at Centre Court, often with her life partner, Ilana Kloss.

To borrow a slogan from the Virginia Slims circuit (now the Women’s Tennis Association) that Billie Jean brought to life: “You’ve Come a Long Way, Baby.”

This blog posting would go on forever if I were to review Billie Jean’s career and life. Suffice it to write that one of the first professional athletes who came out of the closet  — actually she was forced out — and who lost millions in endorsements during that time in the early ’80s, now has an entire national tennis center named after her and is being portrayed in a major movie that has just been released.

It couldn’t have come at a better time when Civil Rights in the United States are now in danger after what I think of as an extended Prague Spring under the Obama administration. Something inside me kept saying, “This is too good to be true. I never thought this could happen in my lifetime.”

But Billie Jean King did.

I was a kid in love with the game of tennis when I first found out about her. The tennis boom was in full swing and I was hooked. I had major boyhood crushes on Chris Evert, Evonne Goolagong, Björn Borg, and Jimmy Connors.

While most boys and then young men in my vast extended family couldn’t get enough of baseball and hunting, I was, typically, the outsider who took up something different. When I wasn’t writing poetry or practicing the piano or bassoon in my spare time, I was on the tennis court honing my two-handed backhand when most guys in that era in rural areas were thought of as sissies for using two hands, and to some degree, even for playing tennis.

That didn’t stop me. I dressed like Björn and Jimmy, grew my hair like them, and played like them, preferring to win from the baseline rather than at the net, again at that time not the expected style for young men.

I also read everything I could about tennis and competed to watch it on television when my siblings and father would groan about our one TV being turned on to tennis.

Billie Jean King was not, by any stretch, my favorite player to watch. I thought she was rude and way too single-minded on the court. But I liked listening to and reading about her. Even back then, long before I was ready to admit I was gay, I knew that Billie Jean was giving a voice to women and to other minorities that I would need and still do when I stand up for my rights. Had I not stood up for myself in my teens and 20s, I would have let myself be pushed off to the sidelines by many men and some women, young and old, with the exception of my uncles and the major women in my life.

I look back and think, “Well, given the era, they didn’t know better.” Very few people, especially in rural areas, talked about being supportive of young men struggling with their sexual orientation. Along with thousands of others, I was mocked, excluded, shunned, discouraged. It was easier that way. In fact, it almost became sport to pick on the fag. A classmate could win popularity points for doing so.

But guess what? I hung around — on tennis courts and in classrooms in high school and college, in the workplace, and in social settings with mostly straight people. Bit by aching bit, while I was trying to make sense of who I was, I gained confidence.

I later met Evonne, Chris, and Billie Jean. Yes, of the three, I enjoyed the thrill of meeting and talking with Evonne the most. I wanted to tell Billie Jean, though, that she gave me all kinds of courage to make it in life and still does. She is a timeless role model. The world can never thank her enough.

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Protest and Unity

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Being Gay, Civil Rights, Community, Gratitude, Presidential election, Self-esteem

Dear Readers,

I’m stumped, again by Trump.

Don’t we have free speech in the United States?

Should athletes who kneel to protest violence be threatened with being fired or suspended as the chief occupant of the White House has urged?

I never knew that standing in unity with locked arms was heresy.

But wait. Let me draw from own life experience.

When I was in middle school many years ago, I had signed up for the basketball team. The roster was posted on the window of the main office. As I walked down the hall, I heard my classmates say, “Don’t let the faggot play.” They continued even when they saw the disbelief and hurt in my face.

One brave classmate, a very good athlete, protested when his fellow players jeered and even spat at me when the coach called me into my one and only game. I quit the team, believing that was the better choice rather than endure that experience again.

Except I did. It happened on my high school tennis team and the coach stood in silence.

Fortunately, it never happened on my college tennis team. I believe I know why: years later, five of us had a reunion and discovered we were all gay, something we never admitted in college!

Soon after my college tennis team reunion, I was asked to coach a men’s team for a United States Tennis Association 4.5 league. A few players quit.  I was actually advised by some well-meaning fellow coaches to promise the guys that I would never go into a locker room, never talk about any guy I was dating even if the rest of the team talked about their wives and girlfriends, and never mention that I was gay.

I was lucky. The other guys on the team stood by me. We played our matches. Two guys who quit rejoined the team. The sky did not fall.

Quitting is not the answer. Standing in unity, building community, and respecting differences are ways that offer more hope.

 

 

Quaker Light

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Blogging, Buddhism, Faith, Family, Gratitude, Healing, Marathon training and running, Parenting, Quakerism

Dear Readers,

I’ve been dealing with pain lately.

Not the familiar aches of distance running as I train for another marathon (my 20th). No, those are like friends I haven’t seen for a while. We embrace each other because we know each other so well and we keep each other company all the way to the marathon finish!

This pain is even more personal and a little scary because it’s not just about me but also about my most loved ones. I should state for my readers that physically we are all fine! It’s the other, dealing with the unknown, that is hardest for me. I try to be optimistic about it the way I psych myself up when I’m running and encounter a large hill!

I have asked my close friends (Friends and friends) to hold me in the Light, a wonderful Quaker practice. I asked a few last evening and I woke up at peace and ready to face and embrace what I need to today and in the next weeks. Holding someone in the Light lifts that person to hope, Light, love, healing, and sound mind and being.

So hold me in the Light, Dear Readers, and I will do the same for you over the next several hundred miles! Thank you, along with my gorgeous daughter and husband, for inspiring this blog and for reminding me of what is truly meaningful in life.

 

Squeaking By

Tags

Being Gay, Faith, Family, Friendship, Fulbright Program, Gay marriage, Gay parenting, Gratitude, Iceland, Living in Hawaii, Marathon training and running, Parenting, Philanthropy

Dear Readers,

What will I do when my best friend moves to China in a few weeks?

I can call her at any time of day, even though we are five time zones apart. I can continue a conversation begun two weeks ago. I can bring up any topic and know she will give it to me, a gay man, “straight.” She is loving, caring, practical, startlingly smart, and always a source of wisdom!

Once in a while I’m lucky to reciprocate for all she gives me. Recently, I encouraged her to move to China for a fresh start in her life, her career as a wonderful, nimble teacher, as a constant giver who has a chance to be given a bit of hope for herself.

I knew in my heart that China would be the right move for my friend, but I wondered how I could convince her. I mentioned that when I was barely in my 20s I received a Fulbright to study and teach in Austria. I knew that it was the opportunity of a lifetime. I remember when I received the scholarship, I celebrated by walking across the Brooklyn Bridge. I was so excited I could not speak. The only person who knew for a few days was my mother, a teacher who grew up in a mountain hamlet in Pennsylvania. I thought she might be proud of her firstborn son.

A few decades later, to my astonishment I was offered a job in Hawaii, for me the most beautiful place on earth. I played in a small tennis tournament in my mid 20s and at that time thought, “Well, I’m glad I’ve seen it. I always wanted to spend at least a week in Hawaii and Iceland.”

I did squeak in that 10-day trip to Iceland a few decades after Hawaii and before I met my stunning husband. I had given up on relationships, so I thought I would become a good development director, runner, and gardener. My husband is younger than I, and at the time, with encouragement from my sister, I decided I could squeak by in our age range.

Then it came to parenthood.

I had wanted to be a parent my entire life. My husband did not. Oh boy. Somehow, I persuaded him. Time was perhaps running a bit short for me as I was in my 40s, but we did it, the best decision of my life — tied with having the audacity to set myself up for a date with my husband. We have the most glorious daughter in the world. I squeaked by.

As a family, we lived on the continental United States, Germany, and then, Hawaii. I convinced myself it was still the right time in my life to try something new, to return to a paradise I had discovered decades earlier, to squeak by one more daring move to a new home. It was one of the best decisions, next to marriage and parenthood, I ever made.

I’m glad I could recall that recklessness when my friend was considering China, when my Bavarian gut, said, “By all means, do it now, you don’t want to wake up some day and wonder, ‘What if?'”

Maybe we’ve all squeaked by in some way, and you know what, that’s perfectly o.k! Listen to your heart, your gut, your brains, and go for it!

 

Trailblazers

Tags

Civil Rights, Community, Edith Windsor, Gay marriage, Gay parenting, Girl Scouts, Inclusion, Living in Hawaii, Parenting, Presidential election, Trisomy 21, YMCA

I’m lucky in many ways.

I live in Hawaii. I work at a school where for a few hours yesterday students and staff gathered for one of the first presentations in our new building. It was led by a gentleman who was a volunteer in the ’60s to assist African-Americans to overcome barriers so they could vote in Mississippi.

When I celebrate my birthday, I will always think of Edith Windsor.

Because of Edie, who died yesterday at age 88, the Supreme Court granted same-sex married couples federal recognition for the first time although it was “just” 13 states and the District of Columbia. The decision was handed down on June 26, 2013. Two years later, on the same day, my birthday, the Supreme Court allowed us to marry anywhere in the United States.

My husband and I had moved three times before and after we became parents to find states where we could raise our daughter as a legal married couple.

I mentioned to our guest speaker yesterday that I never thought in my lifetime that my husband and I could work in the same place as a same-sex married couple raising a young child and be warmly embraced by an extended community that includes hundreds of men and women of all generations.

I asked our guest speaker if he had known that Edie had died. He had not yet read the news.

It dawned on me later that as a young man, our guest had set out on a path in an area of Civil Rights that not only changed his life but thousands of others.

I read that Edie, when she was young, had never imagined that she would be an activist.

Like Edie early in her life, I did not want to stand out as a minority, but somehow I became a trailblazer: the first openly gay male in my vast extended family, the first to introduce my husband at a family reunion as my husband, the first openly gay male in at least four places where I’ve worked, one half of the first openly gay couple in my family to raise a child although now, thank goodness, a few cousins and their wives have joined me.

I wonder about my talented, bright daughter born with an extra chromosome. Will she receive a college degree as my husband and hope and will do everything we can to make that path appealing to her? She already has inspired many as a student in an inclusive public school where she is more than holding her own, as a Girl Scout, as a student of hula and Hawaiian Studies at our YMCA where our family was asked to be part of a campaign to help promote diversity.

Edie and countless men and women like the gentleman who spoke at our school yesterday have inspired quiet activism in me over the years: Arthur Ashe, Althea Gibson, Billie Jean King, Martin Luther King Jr. just to name a few.

Yesterday, listening to our guest speaker and reading about Edie, I was reminded of something I have known for years: never give up unless I really want to which doesn’t happen too often!

 

Never Give Up

Tags

Childraising, Diversity, Friendship, Gratitude, Living in Hawaii, Parenting, Teaching, Tennis, Trisomy 21, US Open, Women's and men's professional tennis tours, YMCA

One of my best friends is a former editor of a major tennis publication. I used to be a tennis reporter. We both grew up loving the game and its history. Put us alone in a room, and we can talk for hours about matches played decades ago.

So yesterday, a few minutes after the US Open women’s final, my friend who lives in New York and soon will move to China called me in Honolulu where I was on the treadmill at the Y watching the match and squeezing in exercise while my daughter was in her hula class. In the ’80s and even ’90s, Robin and I would have had to negotiate long in advance this kind of conversation about the last Grand Slam singles match of the year for the women.

Truth be told, the final was not too exciting. Robin and I both agreed that Sloane Stephens rose to the occasion while Madison Keys appeared frozen about the prospect of winning her first major title.

Both young women had returned to the tour only recently from major injuries and surgeries, so to have gone this far in the US Open was for either world-class player an unexpected dream.

Sloane spoke about dreams in her trophy acceptance speech: “Parents, never give up on your kids” while acknowledging all the sacrifices her mother, a star swimmer at Boston University, had made to give her daughter opportunities to dream about holding a major championship trophy some day.

“I think parents don’t get enough credit. When I was 11 years old, my mom took me to a tennis academy. One of the directors there told my mom that I’d be lucky if I was a Division II player and I got a scholarship.”

I could write on about being underestimated many times in my life, but this post isn’t about me. It’s about Sloane, her message about parents that we can never hear enough, and a reminder about why I wake up every day: to give my daughter every opportunity I can. I will never, not for one second, let someone else decide her limits. She has already surpassed predictions. Like Sloane and Madison, she will help pave the way for the world to be more inclusive, welcoming of diversity, and for life to be lived on a more level playing field.

 

 

 

Venus Rising

Tags

Gratitude, Growing up gay, Six Degrees of Separation, Tennis, US Open, Venus Williams

I’ve watched the US Open from different places in the world and different stations in my life for more than 40 years — yes 40!

I began watching it as a boy when the championships were still played on grass tennis courts, then briefly on clay when some still referred to the tournament as Forest Hills, and then on hard courts in Flushing Meadows.

I’ll never forget watching two finals exactly 20 years ago. Princess Diana had just died and a Canadian who later adopted British citizenship named Greg Rusedski made it to the last day of the tournament. I have always loved symbolism and tried to talk to my boyfriend at the time how moving it was for Greg to wear a black armband to signify he was in mourning for Diana as so many of us were. Just a few days earlier, I had placed a bouquet at the gates of the British Embassy in Washington.

He was my first boyfriend, and he didn’t want to hear about Diana, Greg, nor about my love for tennis nor symbolism.

On the women’s side, a 17-year-old debuted at the Open and reached the final before she lost to Martina Hingis. I remember feeling sorry for her because she lost badly after such a brilliant run, and Martina, never the most gracious player on the court, mocked her a bit after she won the first set 6-0. I also, though, took a deep breath when she received her runner-up check from Tony Trabert, an elder statesman of the game who won the title twice in the ’50s. Tony, one of the most gracious ambassadors the sport has ever known, said kind words to the young woman who stared past him and then tossed the check into her belongings like it was an old grocery list.

What a difference 20 years make! Venus Williams is now herself one of the most gracious ambassadors tennis has ever known and she is in the semifinals again at age 37!

As for Martina Hingis? She retired twice from singles competition partly because Venus and her sister Serena began to easily outhit and win routinely against her. No stranger to controversy that includes a two-year suspension from the game, Martina is still winning championships in doubles.

Tony Trabert? A father of five and grandfather of 12, he has been referred to as “an American treasure.” As a boy, I once wrote Tony Trabert to find out about earning a scholarship to his tennis school. I’ll never forget receiving a personal, handwritten note from Tony thanking me, encouraging me to love and pursue the sport, and to apply for a scholarship. I instead went to music camp that summer, but I still have Tony’s note.

My first boyfriend? The relationship more or less lasted a year. Truth be told, I believed back then that my first serious boyfriend should be the man I marry. I’m so glad I revised my dreams! Sometimes things need to change. I’m just glad, though, that some things, like Tony Trabert and Venus Williams playing her way far into the second week of the US Open, and my love for tennis and the history of the sport seem to last forever.

 

Huggers

Tags

Blogging, Childraising, Community, Down syndrome, Gay parenting, German Heritage, Living in Hawaii, Parenting, Trisomy 21, YMCA

My daughter loves hugs. She enjoys giving and receiving them. She trusts easily, sometimes a little too readily. When she seeks affection or attention, she will often say to a person, “I love you.”

Ellen Bear recently said good-bye to a young boy at the YMCA, a classmate in her hula and Hawaiian Studies class and not someone we know too well yet. She called him Sweetie. When Ellen had her back turned, the boy poked his sister and gave her the same term of affection my daughter had given him, only in a slow, mocking voice. He did it twice.

I observed all this and tried to hold myself back. When he did it a third time, I went up to him, smiled, and said gently, “Guess what? My daughter was being nice to you. If you want to mock her for that, have the courage to do it to her face.”

My husband and I have had many conversations with Ellen about overhugging, about discerning when a person wants a hug and when not. We’ve even tried to define boundaries such as

1. Hug only guests who come to our home and share a meal
2. Hug only your teachers

Before and since Ellen was born, my husband and I have heard and read many instances of people with Trisomy 21 basking in hugs. We do not want Ellen to be a stereotype.

We also have two main fears about our daughter being overly generous with affection. First, that she shows it to the wrong person. Second, that she will be mocked and in much harsher ways than she was at the Y.

For the latter, I can’t, nor would I want to control every interaction my child has with her age peers. What I can do is try to reinforce, even role-play appropriate boundaries.

I’m still learning boundaries myself. Having come from a German-American home, we didn’t hug too often, especially in public. I joke with my mother that my yearly hug allowance with her is two. I startle her sometimes by telling her I love her even though I don’t have to. I’ve never doubted my mother’s love nor the other way around.

I’m pretty generous when it comes to hugging my daughter. Then again, I’m someone who has usually worn his heart on his sleeve, a blessing and a curse.

It’s always a balance, every day. I wrote most of this post before Ellen woke up. When she did, I hugged her.