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The biggest losers
Published:2014-04-16 Column
The biggest losers By: Jill Pertler Our home is like a black hole for any number of losable items and we’re caught in the vortex. I thought we’d dislocated just about everything possible – until last Tuesday, when we entered new territory. We found ourselves unable to locate a tennis racket. Not tennis balls. Not tennis tape. Not one of those absorbent tennis wristbands. A brand-new, never-used, regular-size, far-from-cheap tennis racket – in its entirety. It might seem impossible to lose something as conspicuous and cumbersome as a tennis racket, but I’ll remind you, we are a bunch of losers and therefore somewhat talented that way. Even so, we’ve never lost anything as large as a tennis racket – unless you count losing a car in the parking lot or the occasional errant bicycle. We’ve done both. More than once, which doubles our deficit – or aptitude – depending on your viewpoint. The owner of the racket, son number two, is a fairly accomplished loser, despite his young age. Up until last week, however, his lost talents were primarily limited to cell phones – the displacement of which he has proven himself to be a true aficionado. Let’s just say he loses them at the rate normal kids lose teeth. I asked my son if he remembered where he’d last seen the racket. Had he shown it to someone? Brought it to school? Put it somewhere for safekeeping? My attempts at triggering his memory served no purpose; he had no recollection of any such activities. Where does one search for a lost tennis racket? Everywhere. I overturned chair cushions. Peered behind TVs. Looked under beds. Shuffled through closets. Perused the laundry. I found many dust bunnies and 11 dirty socks but no tennis racket. Tennis meet looming, we were close to break point. It was far from a love-love situation. As I found myself on my knees, rummaging through the garbage in search of the expensive racket I feared I might be losing my marbles, or at the very least my dignity. The advantage was definitely with the lost racket. I didn’t know what we were going to do. Just then my son let out a loud yelp, which I hoped was a good sign. I found him standing in the doorway of his bedroom, beaming, racket in hand. It doesn’t matter where he found it (wedged between the wall and radiator) but that he found it. Because the one thing better than a brand-new tennis racket on the first official day of the first official tennis meet of the season is a once-lost, now-found brand-new tennis racket on that very same day. It felt like a grand slam.
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