In a Pickle

As a father, my dad and I would watch pickle ball games on TV. He would explain the skill it takes to be like one of the greats. He was the original great. Long ago, when my father, during his humble beginnings, lived in a poor neighborhood, he had the urge to do something active outside. He always hoped to play tennis, like he saw in the newspaper, but could not afford any general equipment, like a racket or tennis ball. All he had access to was a pickle and a ball. Since my father was a creative man with a creative mind, he found a solution. This solution was later known as “pickle ball.” After hearing this story before bed every night, I wanted to be one of the greats. I spent night after night, day after day, practicing with my dad, keeping in mind there was a legacy to fulfill. On really intense training days, I would prolong my training in the depths of the night on the treacherous grounds at Boulan Park. I ate a strict diet of pickles and drank pickle juice not as a discipline but to stay focused. My five hours of screentime from my 48-hour training days were exclusively pickleball replays of my father. I couldn’t let my people down. My father was my hero. My Fa Mu Luan. I wanted to honor my family by becoming the best pickle ball player of my time, keeping the “Tallu” family name in the pickleball spotlight. As I turned out to be the best pickle ball player of my century, I hope to inspire future generations that they can become pickle ball stars, and stories they will hear stories about me.