Newport, rhode island

From the time Nat was very little, we would go to Newport, sometimes just the two of us, sometimes with others. I can remember her as a young toddler on First Beach conducting serious sand business with a kitchen fork and spoon while seagulls that outweighed her circled around assessing whether she'd make a good snack. It was the perfect place to go as there was never much traffic, the water was warmer, there were waves, bathrooms and amenities, and parking was close by. I say we, but I suppose it was I who developed the ritual of going to Newport Creamery after for a chocolate Awful Awful that we would "share". I'd get.a sip sometimes. 

Perhaps one day we wondered what all the commotion was across the street? Honestly, I don't remember, but by the time Nat was 5, going to the men's ATP tournament at the International Tennis Hall of Fame was a much loved tradition, which was only broken during COVID, when the tournament wasn't held.

It never occurred to me to adhere to instructions about visitor parking at some far away spot that would demand taking a not-on-my-personal-schedule trolley that would most certainly limit our freedom of movement. Instead we'd park two blocks away on Edgar Court, at a housing project, then stroll on over. Our first stop was.usually Empire Coffee and Tea for a pre-tournament beverage, after which we'd cross Bellevue to the beautiful main entrance, only to get our annual suprise that outside drinks are't allowed inside, resulting in a quick slurp with no enjoyment. 

Once inside, there are only three choices; watch at the practice courts, follow the matches on the two courts next to each other, or sit in an assigned stadium seat. As we would always go early in the week to watch more, the stadium matches, which featured seeded players, were lopsided and uninteresting, often with big servers like John Isner or Sam Querry. So we'd watch the up and comers duke it out, or fast-paced doubles, and enjoy seeing Lleyton Hewitt practice with his tow-headed toddler son roaming around the court. 

Lunch is always back across Bellevue at A Market, and for me it's the same thing because it's so very delicious and happens to be healthy as well. Then back to the tournament with often a sit in the stadium because we've perfected scoring good seats in the shade, which are a welcomed relief by then. 

After the matches are done for the day, it's over to Pasta Beach for dinner, where players can be seen with their coaches and families. We once watched Sam Querry, shortly after he'd lost a match, struggling with his toddler and trying to eat at the same time. 

It's quitting time after that, but we're never quite ready to leave, having a feeling of wanting a little more, which we sometimes capitulate to by stopping at First Beach for a walk or once, staying over for a second day. In all, it's a most predictably perfect and wonderful day that has been important enough for both of us that we've cancelled meetings, moved schedules around, changed flights, gone with little sleep in order to maintain the ritual. 

So when Nat told me months ago that she'd be in Europe this July, it was with a feeling of happiness for the fun things she'd be doing to expand her world, and a loss not unfamiliar to the mom experience over the years, reminding me of the first time she didn't want to hold my hand on our walk to school. Even though I'd had a good thing for a long time and knew the party was going to end at some point, there arose a poignant feeling of being happy for her confidence, strength and independence and then sadness about what would never be again. 

While there was always the option of asking a friend to attend this year, it somehow didn't seem right to just fill the void, so I chose to go alone to the qualifiers, particularly as the biggest names in the main draw weren't too exciting. There were certainly fine things about the day: being on my own schedule, that regular parking spot waiting for me, being in Newport in general, cushy chairs in the shade replaced sitting on the sunny steps, my new friend Kim with whom I spent a lot of the day, great people watching and an iced coffee stand inside the tournament. But overall, there was a feeling of mehness which could have been just me, but I'm not 100% sure about that. The tradition was over, yes, but the tennis wasn't great, and not in evidence was a feeling of something close to sanctity that perhaps comes when the likes of Andy Murray show up. When I learned that it was the last year of the tournament, it seemed like the perfect fizzle of something that could be no longer, in more ways than one.