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Show 5fcu^o<; / c o u f^f e of /vtrc_ /P/Nfo^ L/ to put tn: ball away for quite a while. The ball goes back and forth for a nuvrer of shots before Dad maneuvers me to the left sice, compelling me to use my weak hand. There he makes his mistake. He stays too far to the right, and I exploit that error by driving a beautiful pss.. shot down th-:- left wall that he doesn't even come close to veiuf-ning. "Gre^t shot, Alan.. " Da6 says, panting. I •: 2'- ' t help grinning SI -•- y 1 manage co tak>> the Lead, with trie score a f fee ceen-elsven JJ- .n I step up to sevve. .As soon as the ball i'-sves m^ banc, chough, it - .- lear I'm in trouble; the direction is oft. Glancing back, I 3-ie the ball come off the back wall in the middle of the court a big, fat, juicy setup for Dad. He's probably alrsad^ gloating as he moves into pusition, preparing tin; La-ib for the slaughter I mentally kick myself as I move up to re:ieve the impossible-to-return kill shot that will cs-tainly follow. iad obliges my expectations with a perfect kiii that comes blasting into the right corner, not more than two inches from the floor. I tijTn around, my expression a mixture of admiration for Dad and disgust For myself, and look at him. He's grinniny I grin too, as I see :'im pick up the ball with a flourish and wait* to the service line, favoring me with a superior look on the way. He obviously doesn't need to be told that was a great shot. Slowly, inevitably, the score creeos up. The volieys now are long and 3rueling; Dad lofting it to the ceiling, me passing it to the -4- |