On the Line (14 page)

I remember this moment clearly, because it was another example of how Venus was the center of attention. Okay, so she probably
didn’t walk clear across the court on her hands, like it said in some of the articles. She didn’t handspring all the way to
the bathroom like a professional cheerleader at a half-time show. But she did do a cartwheel or two. And Rick Macci was probably
impressed by her athleticism, because she was certainly athletic, and I guess you didn’t see too many tennis players moving
around while they were upside down, even for just a short distance, so he probably made a comment to that effect.

But Daddy’s response was reported accurately. He made sure to call attention to me. I can still hear him singing my praises,
like he always did. It’s just that people didn’t always listen, because Venus was the undefeated junior player and the toast
of Southern California. She was the one they wrote all those articles about. She was the one with the great physical gifts.
And she was the one all these famous coaches wanted to train at their academies. I remember thinking,
When is it going to be my turn? What about me?
And I remember sitting on the side of the court that afternoon, wondering if I’d get a chance to show the famous coach what
I could do. At just that moment, in my nine-year-old head, nothing was more important.

T
he yellow Volkswagen minibus with the white roof didn’t make the trek to Florida. Daddy had actually painted the side panels
red a couple years earlier, fooling us into thinking we got a new car, but we finally had to retire it one afternoon by the
side of the road, when it wouldn’t start. For this cross-country adventure, then, we piled our worldly possessions into a
Winnebago and headed east. (Mercifully, Isha wasn’t allowed to drive!) What was most memorable about that trip was that it
was the longest stretch of time we’d gone without playing tennis. This was a concern, as I recall. Wasn’t really a concern
to me and my sisters, but my parents were thinking about it, that’s for sure. They were looking for public courts along the
way, but we weren’t on too many side roads, and I guess we didn’t find any. I do remember swinging our racquets in a bunch
of rest stop parking lots, though. And we did some running and fitness work, too. We must have made an odd picture, stumbling
out of that trailer, four girls of various shapes and sizes, swinging our racquets, playing air tennis at all those rest stops,
but nothing could keep us from our game.

That all changed, as soon as we settled in Haines City, Florida, not far from the Grenelefe resort. It was kind of a backwater
place in the middle of the state. Wasn’t a whole lot to do but play tennis, so we played. All the time. Every day after school,
for about four or five hours. Venus and I were on an accelerated school schedule, which meant we were out on the court by
one in the afternoon. Our teachers overloaded us with homework to make up for the time lost in class. We’d play until about
five or six, after which we’d usually go to dance or karate or some other activity. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, we’d go to
the Kingdom Hall. Saturdays, we’d play all morning. Sundays were for rest and schoolwork—and Kingdom Hall, of course.

There wasn’t exactly a whole lot of time to twiddle our thumbs, although we were still just kids, so we found all kinds of
ways to amuse ourselves at home. There’s another Greatest Hits–type family story that still gets kicked around among us sisters,
and it took place here in Haines City. There was this pizza place called Hungry Howie’s, not far from the Grenelefe facility.
In the summer, when we were playing tennis all day, the people at the academy used to order pizza for all the kids, and that
was a great treat. They also had this special bread that came along with the pizza, which we all called Hungry Howie Bread.
I don’t know what they called it at the restaurant, but that was how we knew it in our house. They made it with garlic and
butter, and it was just so, so good. Man, we all loved that Hungry Howie Bread—all of us except Venus, that is. For some reason,
it just wasn’t her thing.

One day, Isha ended up bringing all this Hungry Howie Bread home, and we were pinching from our supply all day long. It was
like we’d won the lottery. I’d go into the kitchen and grab a piece, and then I’d go back for another, and another. At some
point, I started to realize that Isha and Lyn would be digging into the bread bag before long, so I took what was left and
found a hiding place for it. A little while later, Isha went into the kitchen looking for some Hungry Howie Bread, and the
cupboard was bare. She screamed, “Who stole the Hungry Howie Bread?” You could hear her all over the neighborhood, I bet.

I tried to play it cool. I was about ten—and long past the point where being the cute little sister would get me off the hook.
Isha wouldn’t let it go, though. There was just too much bread for one person to eat, so she knew something was up. We ended
up having this big mock trial, and Isha started interrogating us. Lyn and I were the only two witnesses, and the only two
suspects, because we all knew Venus had nothing to do with it. I had to have an alibi for this and an alibi for that—basically,
to account for every move I’d made since we’d gotten home from Grenelefe. It was wild. But Isha was such a good lawyer, even
then, that she wore me down, and I had to admit that I’d pinched the last few pieces of Hungry Howie Bread.

The surprise, though, was that I hadn’t acted alone. All along, I’d thought I was the main culprit, but it turned out that
Lyn had already stolen a bunch of bread before I’d even gotten to it, and here she’d been thinking that she was the one about
to get caught. Isha wore her down, too. I had no idea about Lyn, and Lyn had no idea about me, but Isha busted us both, and
to this day we talk about the Hungry Howie Bread trial. Someone will mention The Case of the Missing Hungry Howie Bread, and
we’ll bust up laughing.

I didn’t like my new school. Back home in California, I used to look forward to all my classes, because I loved to learn.
Put me in a classroom with a good teacher and bright, motivated students, and I was all over it. Here in Florida, I still
loved to learn, but I didn’t have a whole lot of friends. I didn’t have a whole lot of friends in California, either, but
at least it was familiar. Here in Florida, I did have one good BFF-type friend, but that was about it. I didn’t have the best
teachers in the world, or the most interested classmates, so that was a giant negative. Mostly, though, I didn’t like the
way I looked, so that made it hard for me to feel good about myself in the kind of way you needed to if you meant to reach
out and meet new people. Little girls can be so mean to each other, only here it wasn’t like they were especially mean to
me. Instead, I was guarding against that meanness every day. I was waiting for it and waiting for it. I thought it was only
a matter of time before these kids started picking on me because of the way I looked, so I didn’t say much during the school
day. I’d raise my hand in class from time to time, but that was about it.

Venus was still looking out for me. We were in different grades, so our lunch periods were at different times. I usually sat
by myself. Eventually, she started to have some friends. People were always drawn to V, but not to me, so every time we were
in the hallways or at recess I went looking for her. She was like a safe haven.

One day, I realized just before lunch that I didn’t have any money. The way it worked at this particular school was if you
didn’t have any money for lunch you’d stand in this special line and they’d give you a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. It
was always so embarrassing to have to stand in that line, but at least you got to eat. And we did have money for lunch; money
was tight, but not that tight, but I had already spent my money on something else. Or maybe I’d lost it. On this day, though,
they were serving fried chicken, and I loved fried chicken! (I still do, as you can sometimes see from my hips and thighs!)
The thought of missing out on all that fried chicken, and having to eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich instead, was just
too upsetting, so of course I went looking for Venus.

I told Venus the deal, and what did she do? She reached into her pocket and handed me her lunch money. She didn’t even think
about it. She just said, “I’ll have the peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I like peanut butter and jelly.”

See what I mean when I say Venus is a special person? She never thought about herself when we were kids, at least not when
it came to me. Whatever it was, a gold trophy or a fried chicken lunch in the school cafeteria, she hated to see me disappointed.
And
I
hated to see me disappointed, too, so I took her money. You might think that by fifth or sixth grade I would have developed
a little more self-respect than to have my hand out all the time, reaching for the kindness and indulgence of my big sisters,
but the princess in me didn’t see why I had to do without if someone else was perfectly willing to do without instead of me.

(Goodness, I was just
horrible
.)

For the most part, though, we adjusted to our new situation soon enough. Tennis was the constant. Kingdom Hall, too. Whatever
else was going on in our little lives, whatever sense of upheaval and displacement we were feeling about our move to Florida,
it all fell away when we were on the court or at one of our meetings. That’s the great thing about keeping some kind of faith—it
layers in a strong foundation for everything else. It becomes what you know. On the court, we could lose ourselves in the
rhythm of the game, in the familiarity of our routines. There, I could start to feel a little more sure of myself. Even at
ten or eleven years old, I got very good at tuning everything else out while I was playing. I don’t think I concentrated as
intently or single-mindedly on anything else in my life, but when it came to tennis I was all over it.

It wasn’t just tennis. At Grenelefe, they had us doing this intense fitness training, like hill running and strength work
and other conditioning exercises. This was a big change for us. Daddy always appreciated the importance of fitness in our
overall game, but back in California he’d built all these sprinting and fitness and strength measures into our basic drills,
so we never really noticed that he had us working on our conditioning, but here there was no mistaking it for anything else.
Here it was just flat-out running and hill work and even some weight room stuff, and I hated it. What little kid wants to
be out there running every day? Or working out in a gym? Not me, I’ll say that.

The move to Florida presented two major shifts in my training. First, it meant I was almost always hitting with boys, because
Daddy believed that in order for me and Venus to develop as players we needed to learn to play faster, harder, stronger. I
guess Rick Macci signed on to this view, because that was what he had us doing, even though at the time this was looked on
as a fairly radical approach. I don’t get the controversy, because it always seemed so logical to me. I still can’t understand
why nobody really approached girls’ training in just this way. I mean, if there’s faster, harder, stronger competition out
there to help you fire up your game, you should absolutely take advantage of it. Boys, girls, it shouldn’t matter. How you
swing the racquet, how hard you play, how you push your opposite number on the other side of the net, that’s what matters.

Second, it meant I played more and more with my dad. The way it worked at Grenelefe was Venus would be off on one court, working
with these various coaches, while Daddy and I were usually on the next court, doing our own thing. For me, that was one of
the great benefits of being on the second string, in terms of everyone’s expectations: I finally had my dad to myself.

Isha and Lyn would come to the facility after their full days at school, and start playing on one of the perimeter courts,
and I remember looking on at their drills and feeling a little jealous, because they got to be together, and they were doing
all these drills with all these kids and having so much fun. On my court, it was just me and Daddy, or me and some other coach,
and it was hard. We hit a ton of balls, over and over, and then when we’d pick them all up, we’d hit the same ton all over
again. On Venus’s court, too. They had us working, working, working. From time to time, we’d get to share the court and make
a game of it.

This is a good spot to talk a little more about the influence my mom had on my game, because not a lot of people recognize
it. When we were kids, it was mostly just me and my mom. She was working a lot, that’s true, but almost all of my one-on-one
training was with her. She’s a lot different from my dad in her approach. She’s tough—a real no-nonsense lady. It was all
about the drill with her, and I remember thinking it was really boring on her court. Over on Daddy’s court, Venus seemed to
be having a lot more fun. Well, maybe
fun
isn’t the right word, but her workouts seemed easier, more spirited. With my mom, it was a little more intense. She was always
barking out instructions, telling me to move up on the ball or to pay attention to my footwork, reminding me of the purpose
of each little exercise. Daddy had a more gentle demeanor. He’d tell you something once and wait for you to incorporate it
into your game. Then, if he didn’t see you making the effort, he’d calmly remind you what you should be working on. He liked
it best when we figured things out for ourselves.

Once we got to Florida, though, that all started to change. Mom wasn’t out there hitting with me every day. Now it was me
and Daddy, while Venus worked mostly with Rick and the other coaches. She was their priority. All that time back in California,
I looked over at Daddy’s court and wanted to be working with him, but now that I’d finally gotten what I wanted I found myself
looking over at Venus’s court and wanting to work with all these other coaches. I wanted to be their priority, too, but of
course that wasn’t how it was going to be just yet. I still had to grow into that priority status.