Journal #1: Growing up with tennis

Summers rolled around and my father would pack us all up into our Volvo station wagon for an 8 hour drive up the coast to our cottage in Maine. It was bittersweet leaving behind my local school friends for a far off land of distant cousins. But in Maine lay the beginnings of my social independence. Tennis Lessons. Weekday mornings I'd wake up early to the cacophony of an ancient (circa 1950's) alarm clock and instead of the dread of school classes I'd spring up with excitement, jump on my bicycle, racket over my back, and peddle through the coastal...