Author Archives: bagelberger25

Love Means Nothing In Tennis

I am 64 years-old, in fact in just over 6 months I will be officially a senior citizen. Throughout my life I have been physically active in playing sports. My real passion is tennis. In the last 40 years from the end of April to the end of October I have been playing outdoor tennis around 3-4 times per week. Regardless of which city I have lived in I have been able to find a club to play men’s doubles, mixed doubles, round-robin or social tennis. I love both the physical and mental aspect of the game. Hitting the right shot, the right angle and switching between power and finesse. I love the mental aspect. Breaking the will of your opponent by breaking serve, winning a long rally and making an impossible shot. It is the only time in my life when I am on the court where I am completely focused on the next shot, life’s worries disappear. I am in the moment, aware of the warmth of the sun, the bird singing, the squeaking of my shoes on the court and the sound of the ball off my racquet strings. I am fortunate that tennis has followed me in all stages of my life; being single, dating, in serious relationships, being married and having kids. The women I have been with have embraced my love of the sport by taking lessons to improve their game to play alongside me in mixed doubles matches. Unfortunately, I have been bitten by the competitive bug and thus a number of these matches have not gone well, notably the ones with my wife. Yelling, arguing, stomping feet and throwing racquets have led us to the right conclusion that we can’t play together. Love means nothing in tennis but it means everything in marriage. My heroes are the men in my club and the men I have played with in Florida. They have continued to play in their 70’s and 80’s which is my goal if I can continue to be healthy enough to play. I hope to continue to play with these men as we all get older along with playing with my kids. Now I am realistic in saying what a thrill it would be to watch my kids and my grandkids one day play tennis together. Let’s hope I don’t witness any yelling or stomping feet!

Bread and Chocolate

It is September 1970. I am in Montreal in grade 7. I am 12 years-old at my friend Bernie’s house in his basement working on a school project. It is a Sunday in the middle of the afternoon and although we have been together for a couple of hours, we can’t seem to make progress on our assignment. Suddenly we hear some chatter from upstairs and it is Bernie’s mother calling out to him in French. Bernie is from Tunisia and the native language is French not the Québécois slang French I am accustomed to growing up in Montreal.  Bernie responds and soon his mother descends to the basement and offers us a plate of food for a mid-afternoon snack. The plate consists of fresh pieces of crusty bread and dark chocolate. I immediately reach out for the chocolate when Bernie says try it with bread. It is a common snack in Tunisia. I never heard of such a combination but the taste sensation was incredible. The crusty chewy bread mixed with the smooth, silky sweet chocolate was sensational. Following our snack, we got more motivated and continued on with our project. As I grew older, I developed a strong appreciation for all types of bread, French bread and baguettes, rye bread and challah.  I also acquired a love of chocolate both milk, dark and even white chocolate from the least expensive to the rare spurge on higher end ones. I never experienced the combo mix from the afternoon I spent at Bernie’s until I realized that every Sunday morning I really do. I grab a coffee at my local coffee shop and then a chocolate croissant at my local bakery. As I was savouring my chocolate croissant a few weeks ago with the flaky crust and the chocolate center it dawned on me that I have experienced this sensation before many years before and it brought a smile to my face.

Being Tall

For as long as I can remember I have been tall. Class pictures when I was in grade school show me as a tall skinny kid in the back row. In exchanges with relatives and strangers growing up there first comment would inevitably be how tall I was. I always accepted it and was aware that I was taller than most. Eventually I became taller than my older brothers and my Dad but I never perceived myself as freakishly tall. Because I was tall and my love of the sport lead me to play basketball growing up. My world changed dramatically then when I played with numerous guys who were considerably taller than me. There were times I actually felt short. There were times in my life I did feel really tall when I started dating women some of whom were a foot shorter than me.  Asking me to reach the top shelf in supermarkets became common. It is funny when I get measured at the doctor’s office and I am only barely 6 foot 1 inch. People perceive me to be 6 foot 3 or 6 foot 4 as I am thin.  I really keep telling people I am only 6 foot 1 but my wife and kids insist I am 6 foot 2. Being tall has its advantages and I wouldn’t change things except for the numerous times I have bumped my head in cramped corners.

Hero Worship

It is April 1980. I am 22 years old. I am in Boston watching the Boston Celtics play the Philadelphia 76’s in a playoff game. My hero is Larry Bird. It is his rookie year and he has turned around the Celtic franchise to its winning ways. The Celtics lost that year but I followed Bird’s whole career. Three NBA championships and his retirement in 1992. Forty years later as I reflect on that night in Boston it is hard to believe he hasn’t played basketball for 28 years but the memories of him playing and how he played are so vivid to me to this day. Bird celebrates his birthday in December as do I and as I turn 63 this year it dawns on me that we are only one year apart. When I was a kid heroes were always much older, wiser and stronger than me but Bird and I are practically the same age. It is a weird feeling that there is essentially no age gap. As Bruce Springsteen wrote “Glory days will pass you by” but the memories are still sweet. Not sure if it is stranger now to follow athletes who are over 30 years younger than me. Times waits for no one

Say Their Name

Everybody wants to be validated. Everybody wants to be seen and heard. The most basic thing that people want is recognition and that is saying their name. Practically all service people wear a name badge but very few people notice or mention their name. Most people are grateful for the service they receive and say thank-you but it is rare if their name gets mentioned. I am a people person and I make it a point to thank each service person I engage with by mentioning their name. It has now gone beyond the name mention, we have an exchange every time we meet. Shadia, the check-out person at Sobey’s grocery asks about my wife and kids. Courtney at Weil Bakery always asks about my life as she hands me my weekly order of a cheese Danish. Alex at the Lexus car dealership always asks about me and not just my car. We are all human beings who want to be acknowledged and recognized for the service we provide but also for just being part of the same community.

Serious Sweat

I love to sweat. I sweat easily. It doesn’t matter if it is an especially hot or humid day or I am exercising strenuously or lightly, I sweat a lot. I sweat more than the average person. I am amazed at people I play tennis with on a hot and humid day where we are all running around and they don’t sweat at all. I wear dri fit clothing which is a misnomer because I continue to sweat through this apparel. It is one thing to play individual sports and sweat but playing team sports and having to defend others who sweat is a totally different thing altogether. I play basketball on Saturday mornings. It’s men’s pick-up and we divide our teams into shirts and skins. I am sure nobody wanted to play defense on me when I was part of the skins team. I know I wouldn’t. There was an occasion I had to cover a big hairy guy who sweat more than me. Needless to say, my defense was terrible as he would score on me consistently as I refused to go close to him. For someone like myself who sweats a lot I love to be clean. On a fairly regular basis I take three showers a day. I often wonder for people who don’t sweat when they work out, do they really need to shower or do laundry for that matter?

That 12-year-old girl

It is February 1981. I am sitting in a hotel room by the airport in Toronto. I just flew in from Montreal that day leaving the city where I was born and lived my whole life. I am 23 years old and about to start my first job after graduation from university as a sales representative. Earlier in the evening I met the whole sales team and my boss as I attended a quarterly sales conference. I am excited but a bit scared as I am about to embark on my new career. As I sit alone in my hotel room my mind is racing. Will I be successful in my first job out of school? Where will I live? Will I meet someone? As I get trained over the next two weeks things are starting to settle in. I find a furnished apartment in Hamilton and will move in at the first of the month. I have my company car and start to make customer visits on my own. I am feeling good about myself, however I still haven’t met anyone to share my journey with. 

Twenty minutes from my furnished apartment lives a 12-year-old girl. She is in grade 6 and lives with her parents and brothers in a house. She is a smart outgoing girl but yet not interested in meeting or hanging out with boys. 

Life is funny some times. Fast forward to 2004. I am now 46 years old living in Oakville in a townhouse I bought 5 years ago. I have changed jobs a few times, lived in different cities and have been in a few relationships, but I am still where I was all those years ago, single and living alone. That 12-year-old girl is now 35 years old and has graduated university and working in nursing in her chosen profession. After several job changes and living in different cities and countries she is living in a townhouse in Burlington. She is interested in boys now and has had a few relationships but is also living alone. 

Through an online dating service that I was browsing one evening I reached out to the girl. She was a trial member and fortunately she responded to my message. After several exchanges we began dating and got engaged one year later.  We have been married for 16 years and have two daughters 14 and 12. 

Who would have thought that the 23-year-old guy who wondered in his hotel room on his first night in Toronto who would he meet, ends up being married to that 12-year-old girl who lived 20 minutes away from him? 

Bat Mitzvah Moment

When you think of moments in your life the tendency is to think of the big ones. When you are single you think of birthdays, vacations, maybe sporting events or concerts. When you get married you think of your wedding, anniversaries, or buying your house. When you have children your memories immediately shift to them. When they were born, the first time they walked or said Daddy. I am fascinated when moments in life take place in the same venue separated only by time.

13 years ago we had my daughter’s baby naming on the bimah in our synagogue.  I was incredibly moved when our Rabbi asked God to bless our daughter. My wife and I had our hopes and dreams of our newborn on that day and God had blessed us. 

Our daughter is beautiful person inside and out. She has her Mother’s heart and unfortunately her Daddy’s thumbs. She is kind to strangers and always cares for those less fortunate than her. Every time we pass a homeless person, regardless of which city we are in, she always reaches out and gives money; but more importantly kind words and hope. She is a loving daughter and a great big sister. I am always touched when in times we are in new surroundings she holds her sister’s hand to guide and protect her. 

Today,13 years later, we stand here on the same bimah for her bat mitzvah and I am bursting with pride. I love her with all of my heart and her Mother and I are blessed to have her as our daughter and the fine young woman she has become today. 

25₵ent Popcorn

It is December 1966 and I am 9 years-old. My actual birthday is December 25 and I am having a birthday party one week before my 10th birthday to accommodate everyone on my street who celebrates Christmas who has been invited to my party. We are at the kitchen table and following blowing out the candles from my cake I get to open my presents. It is a small party as our apartment is tiny and I only got to invite a few guys on the street. The twins Donald and Douglas are here, along with Richard, Jeffrey and Johnny Cormack. As I open the presents I come to Johnny Cormack’s. It is unwrapped and a big bag of popcorn and on the bottom of the package in large print is marked 25 cents. I am 9 years old a little startled by the type of present and the cost but I catch myself and realize that Johnny must have spent his meagre allowance on me. I imagine he didn’t bother his parents for money as they were just as tight financially as my parents were growing up. 

Fast forward to August 2014 my daughters are turning 7 and 5 years old. We are hosting a Frozen birthday party complete with dresses, a Princess Elsa appearance and a $100 birthday cake. As I am watching the joy my kids are experiencing at that moment I feel good that I am able to provide for this type of party for them. I think back to my birthday parties and I do appreciate the birthdays I had and the presents I received and I am thankful that people cared about me. It is hard not to laugh at the irony as I am eating my bag of blue covered Frozen themed popcorn.

Apple Picking

It is September 2020. I am at Chudleigh’s Farm in Milton, Ontario Canada apple picking with my two young daughters. Chudleigh’s is only 20-minutes from my home but you really feel like you are out in the country. It is a sunny but cool morning, a perfect day for apple picking.

I have gone apple picking while single, with my brother, gone while dating my wife and now bringing my kids since literally when they were born. As I watch other families with young kids I am both saddened and joyful. My parents never took me apple picking as a kid so I don’t have that tradition from my upbringing. I am joyful though as I am creating a tradition for my own family that they can pass along and hopefully bring their own kids. 

As we begin apple picking I notice a family speaking Spanish to a bunch of migrant workers who are picking apples high up on a crane attached to a harness. As the family leaves I make eye contact with the worker and smile and give him the thumbs up sign. I feel a connection with him. I am thankful and grateful for him for picking apples for us to enjoy in juices, pies or other baked goods. I can also relate to him as I today am also picking apples to enjoy with my family. My thoughts go to him as he moves to another tree as I think of him picking apples to make money for his family that is far away. I wonder how much he misses his family and realize how lucky I am.