This article originally printed in the Summer Issue (Yellow) 2024 Issue of the Portland Tennis Courterly.
Medicine Ball by Jamie Melton
My Grandma Nancy was an Oregon high school state tennis champion. As a memory of our connection and her strength, I hold close her heirloom gold tennis ball charm engraved with 1956, the year she won. I think about the 1940s and 50s, when she played, and what she had to do to get on the court in rural Oregon, when tennis was one of the only competitive sports that was socially acceptable for women. I am curious about who she looked up to. I wonder if she witnessed and supported Billie Jean King’s advocacy for women and queer rights on and off the court; and would she have accepted me for who and how I love? I’m interested if she and my other relatives supported Althea Gibson as she rose to success as the first Black woman to win a Grand Slam in 1957, and later to the world's number one ranking. Did she care about what that meant for Black women? For human rights? For sport? She died of pancreatic cancer when I was 3, so the questions and stories mostly exist in the shape of wonder. After she died, her husband, my Grandpa Larry, used to drop-shot me at the courts where we would camp as a family in the Oregon summers, which made me want to play basketball instead. Their daughter (my mother, Jenne Jo) played during my youth, toting a 90s-era Wilson Hammer and sporting permed hair. Her “serve and volley” vibe spoke to how she walks through life as much as her success on the court.
Given the familial connection to the sport, it’s surprising that tennis and I didn’t find each other earlier. As a kid and adult, I was keen on chasing balls that blended me into the fate of a team, the power in numbers, rising and falling together. I appreciate that I have the choice to follow the balls I want to. In some sense, tennis and I unioned at just the right time.
My mom gave me her spirited Wilson hammer when her joints retired from tennis and it mostly sat underutilized in my sports gear pile, brought out for the annual-ish swing in a park with friends. I played with it until last year, when my relationship with tennis sparked a need for a new racket that could hold the growth of an emerging love—the kind that slicks your skin and strikes to the core with depth, fading life’s fears, if just for some moments. It was medicine I didn’t know I needed.
In Spring 2023, I was diagnosed with papillary thyroid cancer and got lobectomy surgery, changing my health forever. I was 40 at the time and it felt premature. I was scared and sad and confused. I recalled my grandmother’s fate, and though my diagnosis was highly survivable, I wondered if our gravestones would read the same:
R.I.P. NAJ & JJM:
active, creative, patient, loved food, chased balls around, died in their forties of cancer.
Instead of dwelling on this shared diagnosis and potential destiny, I started playing tennis. It gave me hope and a sense of vitality to challenge my body and honor my grandma’s legacy. I was going to be a champion, just like her! And I was going to survive cancer, just like …
Most people probably wouldn’t sign up for an international tournament after being in recovery and playing for just 6 months. I wasn’t in an average situation. I wanted to feel alive as the possibility of death crept in. I signed up to play tennis in the Gay Games in Guadalajara, Mexico, a quadrennial event with a storied history bringing together queer athletes from around the globe since 1982. The tennis competition was part of twenty-plus sporting events over ten days in the Mexican city known for birria, tequila and smelling like earth. My decision to compete in tennis was secondary to my desire for Spanish immersion; I had studied the language, off and on, since my mid-20s. The Gay Games and tennis provided a foundation for the community I met and the Spanish I spoke on courts with Zira (amor iguales), around dinner tables with families, and on walks or at cafés with Locha (esta chido!).
The GLTA (Gay & Lesbian Tennis Association) hosted the competition. Like a lot of queer organizations, it wants to do things differently. It has its own rating system and a worldwide tournament circuit bringing esteemed 2SLGBTQIA+ tennis players into queer-friendly places. I self-rated as a Women’s B (3.5+) for singles and a C (3.0+) for doubles.
My first matches shared the same venue as the Guadalajara WTA 1000 tournament. Expansive murals of Jessica Pegula, Elena Rybakina and other top players watched over me as I took to the court to face my first opponent: Lori, of Northern California. I didn’t know anything about her until warmups. I struggled with her slices and short balls to my feet, wondering why I couldn’t get a ball like we do in the drills.
While playing, my new friend Wendy, a gold medal swimmer, met Lori’s wife in the stands. She learned that “the wives” had done research and discovered that I worked in nonprofits and had no traceable competitive tennis history. Really intimidating resume! Lori has been to every Gay Games since 1982 (before I was born) and has taken a medal home from every tournament! Playing an elder icon of gay tennis in the blazing sun at over 5,000 feet above sea level—while experiencing the psychological challenge of singles for the first time—was a blended beverage I had not yet experienced. I lost my first match to experienced slices, perfect placements, and new-to-me nerves. Somehow it helped when I imagined Lori as Grandma Nancy. It’s totally fine to lose to my dead grandmother.
Despite all of the challenges, I enjoyed the ride and played decently after the nerves of the first match. Each match, I found my breath, developed a serving ritual, and wore grandma’s tennis ball charm close to my heart. My doubles partner, Kristi, and I played “the wives” in the finals and lost; we succumbed to the same alchemy. For mixed doubles, we had a limited draw, and I played with some highly skilled folks who gave me some of my first lessons at the net: just hold out your racket and don’t look scared.
After nine matches in five days, I won the consolation championship in singles, a bronze in mixed doubles, and a silver in women's doubles. I think Grandma would be proud.
More profoundly, I developed a love for a game that invites me to be creative, see possibilities, play, enjoy, and move through challenges. This past year of tennis and the connections along the way have been true healing gifts ✨ 🎾