Time for Conversation

I’ve been thinking about communication and how it happens. I’ve really been thinking about a relationship with one of our most precious commodities: time.

Sure, we send a text, post on social media for “all” to see, and ask people how they are doing, expecting something like, “I’m doing good. How are you?” regardless of the real response and even write columns on Substack. These are all communication efforts.

And they’ve all gone into overdrive in the last 6 years.

Tennis here in Rhode Island is primarily an indoor sport most of the year. This means we schedule court time, join leagues, and show up and play for 90 minutes. You spend a few minutes warming up and then you start to play. Communication often involves calling a ball in or out, announcing the score, and sometimes saying things like, “Great shot,” to an opponent. Sometimes there’s a bit of social chat while getting some water or between sets.

After the match, there may be time for more conversation assuming you’re not rushing to get somewhere else. Often for me, it’s home simply because at least three times a week tennis finishes at 9:30 or 10 at night.

In two of my leagues, there is competition involved. The league is set up so that four players are on a court, each playing a set of doubles with every other player. Scores are recorded and whoever has won the most games goes up a court to a higher level. Whoever has won the fewest games drops to a lower court.

The other form of communication that is evidenced during this tennis is custom—what has become normalized. This is most evident in terms of how you warm up at the beginning of the 90 minutes and how you interact during the match.

Now the tennis community is generally pretty forgiving. It tends at least by my observation to attract more introverts than extroverts and most of the time players are generally relieved to play anyone at their level, which makes for more fun tennis. I’ve played mixed doubles with someone who wore headphones with music going during a match to help her focus and people who if they aren’t talking, they aren’t thinking.

We play across gender, age, politics, and temperament.

I was struck on Sunday with our grouping. Paul is about my age, another lefty, and a warm personality. Don is in his 50’s, a strong player though his serve breaks down and is a bit more reserved. Howard is the son of our better players whose dad got him into the league. I was playing on the same court as Howard for the first time.

I had seen him before on the court. I’d heard his father talk to him in the locker room, telling him what he needed to do. I’d heard a friend complain about being on the same court as him. The complaint had been he’d hit the ball at players and that he’d hit the ball very hard.

Indeed, during warm-up he was hitting the ball hard, if not always in. That’s not outside the range of normal, particularly at the start of tennis when muscles are warming and up and people are refocusing on the court.

Paul complained to him at one point, “This warm-up. We’re both warming up. Just hit balls so I can warm up.” Paul was at the net and balls were speeding toward him.

I had several thoughts as I briefly took it all in. One was that he hit (and moved) like his father, who also hit the ball hard. His father had learned to soften his warmup game, but that’s likely because he’d been playing a lot longer than his son had. Secondly, he didn’t respond to Paul, but he did try to adjust how hard he hit the ball. Thirdly, I had another thought wondering how much he liked tennis and how much he was doing this at his father’s urging. Did he even want to be here? And lastly, the age difference on the court and what was it like to be a teenager on a court of people around his father’s age or older? Was the awkwardness socially due to age differences or was he like this with everyone, perhaps more pronounced because of the age difference?

We finished warm-up and gathered at the net to do the ritual determination of who played with whom to start. I introduced myself to Hunter and confirmed that he was in fact his father’s son. He confirmed it. “I thought so,” I responded. “You move like your dad.”

“Really?” he responded, a tone of surprise in his voice. It was the first time I’d heard emotion from him.

I laughed conciliatorily, “I think a lot of taller people walk similarly. I notice things like that being lower to the ground.” He didn’t react, but Paul, who is my height if not shorter, laughed.

I played with Don first. Having not warmed up with Howard, I wasn’t quite sure what to expect. If he got the ball hit to him, he could pound the ball. But I’d hit with people who hit it harder. If he had to move, which he clearly didn’t love, he hit a lot less power, if he got to the ball.

I learned from Don and then Paul they had played with him before. I learned his behavior was not dissimilar to what they had previously experienced.

I won each set with each player, and Howard’s demeanor was relatively the same. He didn’t love the custom of the fist bump at the end of each set where we said, “Good playing,” whether we believed that or not. But he did it. He didn’t really participate in the light banter between each set. He and I did play well together, though he never spoke up but twice to confirm the score. (I didn’t say his father did this too, but I thought it.)

After the morning was done, he did the customary fist bump and left the court first. Don, Paul, and I were finishing some water and chatting.

This is where I confirmed that they had seen the behavior before.

I said I had been wondering if he enjoyed tennis or was doing this at his dad’s urging. I told them I’d seen his father tell him what to do, and that was where I’d seen the same lack of response I’d seen most of the morning (other than telling him he walked like father).

Paul looked at me. “I hadn’t thought of that, because I don’t know his dad, but that could be.”

“He may love it,” I said, “and his personality may just be very subdued, either because that’s who he is or because he’s with people his dad’s age and who knows how much we remind him of his father.”

They laughed. Don piped in, “Tennis should be a sport for everyone who wants to play. You’ve made me wonder if he does.”

“Yeah, maybe he’d rather be playing video games, and his dad decided to get him out of the house. Maybe he’s just naturally to himself. It’s hard to know.”

We walked off the court and headed our own ways. It occurred to me as I was changing, I should ask Howard if he enjoyed the tennis and would it have helped if everyone on the court wasn’t over 50. I hope to do that.

But I’ve meaning to write about communication for a while. It occurred to me as a teenager that probably several of Howard’s formative years had been spent altered by COVID-19. If he were 16 or 17 now, he would have been 10 or 11 when we went into lockdown 6 years ago.

That said, we have another teenager who is naturally gregarious, even more so than his father, in the league. He will talk with anyone and knows the cultural clues. But it’s also clear he loves tennis and wants to play more. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s a future state champion. He’s probably the top player in our league. Howard is more mid-range.

There are all kinds of variables.

Yet mostly, I think we’re out of practice in terms of actual conversation. We’ve moved more toward texting and quick, short communication. It’s instantaneous and constant, often online, without a sense of tone of the message. It’s become more asynchronistic, on competing platforms. And more divided. Some people only travel now in their political or cultural or chosen circles. Heaven knows how we will talk to each other as Artificial Intelligence becomes even more normalized into everyday life.

I can picture a world where someone pulls out their phone using AI to respond to someone else’s question.

We think that 150 years ago most communication was either in-person or a handwritten letter. Now if it weren’t for packages and advertising the postal system might be nonexistent. We may be better at leaving a voice note than we are at saying something. We’re definitely better at ghosting people, despite having more ways to be in touch.

Maybe we’re moving to a place where we’re ghosting people even when we’re in the same proximity. If we’re not already there.

I’ve also wondered if autism is on the rise, or if how we define it, know about it, and recognize it is on the rise, or both. And if it is on the rise, why? I was at a training course just a couple of years ago done by someone who is neurodivergent that was so good it made most participants wonder if they were neurodivergent.

In thinking about Howard, I realized he only knows the internet. This made me flash to a picture of my grandparents on a hot, sunny Sunday afternoon, sitting out in the shade, and relatives would just show up for a visit. Everyone would be shelling green beans and talking and having a great time. Will communication ever be like that again?

But I’m going to start tomorrow with looking at three different ways we communicate and talk—the prepositions and propositions of a communication.

To. At. With.

What each is, at least in my mind, why we need all three, and are we out of practice and balance in their utilizations. And examine what in the world is going on that’s affecting our communication.

I’ll close with the locker room interaction after the match with Howie. I had showered, was mostly dressed, and was putting on my socks and shoes. Howard walked in.

“Hey, Howard, enjoyed the tennis today. I’d seen you play but glad you were on the court so I could see for myself. Look forward to the next time.”

He nodded with perhaps, though I couldn’t completely confirm, slightest eyebrow raise, as he walked by, not saying a word. Still, I took it as a win, or at least a start.

We have to start somewhere. Often again and again. It will take time.