Pandemic Pickleball

FROM LEFT TO RIGHT: PHIL KINSEY, MELISSA KINSEY, NATHAN EISENHUT

A fun game and friendly competition bring out the best in a neighborhood

BY MELISSA KINSEY

PHOTOGRAPHY BY CAROLINA MENAPACE

My husband and I moved to Downers Grove a few years ago to be near our daughter’s family. We’ve made big moves before but never have we settled so easily into a community. Our new neighbors were friendly and welcoming, as had been promised about Midwesterners. We were all busy, though, with jobs and commutes and activities. A friendly wave or a quick chat over trash duty was about all we had time for. Then came the pandemic and associated restrictions. Things slowed down. People got creative. We watched families walking by in the middle of the street, tossing a football back and forth. A dad and son raced remote control cars in the little-used church parking lot. Nathan, the recent college graduate next door, hung a big net on his garage, laid down a patch of AstroTurf, and with a bucket of balls started his own driveway driving range. Thwack! We heard him practicing for hours a day, often joined by his dad Rick and brother Brycen. Thwack! From early morning and often late into the evening he worked to perfect his swing. It was a welcome sound in the quiet of the pandemic.

Spending more time at home we undertook a backyard project. With all of us outside more, we got to know Rick and the boys over the fence separating our yard from their driving range. Like-minded sports fans, we talked golf and baseball of course, but also books, art, gardening and the pandemic. In May we welcomed a puppy, a yellow lab named Dottie. The guys were just as excited as we were. Dottie quickly learned that the sound of club striking ball meant one of them would meet her at the fence for some muchwanted attention. So, we connected with our neighbors over golf and Dottie and everything else that becomes important when the world slows down.

One day I had an idea: maybe they’d play pickleball with us. We missed the weekly games we’d enjoyed with a big group, now canceled due to social distancing restrictions. But if each family stayed on their side of the net, we figured that would be safe. Rick was enthusiastic – he’d always wanted to play pickleball – and Nathan and Brycen were game too.

They took to it quickly and soon we were engaging in the rapid back-and-forth that makes the game so much fun. We got to know them in a different way, less talk, more action. Rick revealed himself to be intensely competitive, refusing to let any shot go uncontested, not averse to a dramatic dive now and then. Nathan

was competitive in a more subtle way, experimenting with spins and drop shots, but happy to win a point on a slam too. Brycen left no doubt that he just loves to play, racing back to retrieve lob shots seemingly impossible to return, leaping to return a shot between outstretched legs. I loved the good-natured ragging and banter, too, which reminded me of growing up with three baseball-obsessed brothers. Like Harry Caray announcing a Cubs game they might intone: “A swing and a miss!” or, “Looks like the mustard came off the hotdog on that one, folks.”

Neighbors heard about the games and our cadre expanded. Kathy and Jen, mothers in a bubble together, were first. Both work full-time jobs while doing everything else required of parents, a stress I can’t imagine during the pandemic. They are connectors in the neighborhood, outgoing and inclusive, organizing socialdistanced happy hours in their driveways for the ladies on the block. They were all smiles and laughter as they learned the ropes with the much-needed break away from home. Mary and Ed down the street got in on the game too. Ed, a retired researcher, approached the game like my engineer uncle would, analyzing the rules and flow of play to assess optimal strategies, his mind working every bit as hard as his body. Mary, who played and coached basketball, displayed an intensity consistent with her background in competitive sports and yet she moved lightly across the court, like a dancer. Playing across from her made me flash back to my teenage years when my Aunt Nancy taught me to play tennis. She and Mary share a love for healthy competition and exude the same sheer joy in using their bodies.

Winter halted our progress, but the neighbors stayed committed. Ed fashioned a wall of net height in his basement so he and Mary could practice. Across the street Kathy and 11-year-old son Patrick hit together in their driveway. In early spring, Rick and Nathan worked for four hours with shovels and snow-blower to clear a court so we could play. Though we were a little rusty and never warmed up, it was one of our favorite sessions, playing in a light drizzle, the court edged with snow.

We still enjoy friendly waves out on the street but these days they’re infused with much more meaning. There’s a deeper connection not only with our pickleball friends but with all our neighbors. We made it through a very dark time, thanks in large part to each other. ■