她有一个网球拍的英文

• 爱游戏ayx
• 87
• 2024-06-21 15:00:53

Possible article: She Has a Tennis Racket: A Story of Sports, Identity, and Empowerment "Hey, what's that you're carrying?" I asked my new classmate, who had just arrived at our school in the middle of the semester. She was a tall, slender girl with long black hair, almond-shaped eyes, and a shy smile. She wore a white T-shirt, a blue skirt, and a pair of white sneakers. In her right hand, she held a strange object that I had never seen before. "This? It's a tennis racket," she said, holding it up for me to see. "I play tennis." "Tennis? You mean that game with the balls and the nets and the white lines?" I said, feeling ignorant and curious at the same time. "I've heard of it, but I've never played it. Is it fun?" "Yes, it is. I like it a lot," she said, her eyes lighting up. "I used to play it with my dad when I was little. He was a good player. He taught me how to hold the racket, how to hit the ball, how to move on the court. I was not very good at first, but I kept practicing. Now I'm getting better." "That's cool. Do you play with other people, too?" I asked, wondering how she could find partners to play with. "Yes, I do. I joined a club in my neighborhood. There are other kids there who play tennis, too. Some of them are very good. They have been playing for years. They have their own rackets, their own shoes, their own bags. I don't have much, but I have this racket. It's not very expensive, but it works for me." I looked at the racket more closely. It was a simple model, with a wooden frame, a synthetic grip, and a plastic head. It had some scratches and dents, but it looked sturdy and well-used. I wondered how it felt to hold it, to swing it, to hit a ball with it. I also wondered what it meant to my classmate to have it, to carry it around, to show it to others. "Do you like playing tennis because you're good at it, or because you enjoy it?" I asked, trying to understand her motivation. "I like it because it makes me feel good," she said, looking at me with a serious expression. "When I play tennis, I forget about everything else. I forget about school, about homework, about my parents, about my problems. I just focus on the ball, on the court, on myself. I feel free, and strong, and happy. I also feel like I belong somewhere. Like I'm part of a team, or a community. I don't have many friends, but I have some in the club. They're nice to me. They don't care where I'm from, or what I look like, or how much money I have. They just care about how well I play, and how much I try. They encourage me, and challenge me, and respect me. That's why I like tennis." I listened to her words, and felt a pang of empathy. I knew what it was like to feel lonely, and insecure, and disconnected. I knew what it was like to struggle with school, and family, and identity. I also knew what it was like to find solace, and joy, and purpose in something outside of myself. For me, it was writing. For her, it was tennis. We were different, but we were also alike. "You know what? I think I want to try playing tennis, too," I said, surprising myself. "Maybe I'm not good at it, but maybe I'll like it. Maybe we can play together sometime." She smiled at me, and nodded. "That would be great. I'd like that." *** Over the next few weeks, we started to play tennis together after school. We didn't have a proper court, so we used a small patch of grass behind the gym. We didn't have a net, so we used a rope tied to two trees. We didn't have tennis balls, so we used some old rubber balls we found in the lost-and-found box. It was not ideal, but it was fun. We laughed, and ran, and chased the balls around. We hit some good shots, and some bad ones. We learned how to serve, how to volley, how to lob. We also learned how to communicate, how to cooperate, how to trust. We became friends. One day, as we were playing, a group of boys from our class came by and watched us. They were not very friendly to us. They mocked us, and teased us, and called us names. They said we looked silly, and weak, and girly. They also said some racist and sexist things that I won't repeat here. I felt angry, and ashamed, and scared. I wanted to run away, or fight back, or cry. I looked at my classmate, and saw that she was also upset, but also determined. She didn't say anything, but she didn't back down, either. She kept playing, and hitting, and smiling. She also kept holding her racket, as if it was her shield, her weapon, her identity. After the boys left, we sat down on the grass and talked. We talked about how we felt, and what we wanted to do. We talked about how tennis was more than just a game to us. We talked about how it connected us to our past, our present, and our future. We talked about how it gave us strength, and confidence, and hope. We talked about how we didn't want to be ashamed of who we were, or where we came from, or what we loved. We talked about how we wanted to be proud, and brave, and true. "You know what? I think we should join the tennis team," she said, looking at me with a gleam in her eye. "I heard they're looking for new members. They have a coach, and a court, and uniforms, and everything. Maybe we can try out." "Really? But we're not that good," I said, feeling doubtful. "So what? We can learn. We can practice. We can improve. We can show them what we're made of," she said, standing up and holding out her racket. "We can also show ourselves what we're capable of. We can be more than just two girls playing in the grass. We can be athletes. We can be competitors. We can be winners. We can be ourselves." I looked at her, and at her racket, and at the sky. I felt a surge of energy, and excitement, and courage. I also felt a sense of belonging, and purpose, and pride. I took her hand, and her racket, and stood up. "You know what? I think you're right. Let's do it," I said, smiling at her. "Let's join the tennis team. Let's show them what we've got." *** We did join the tennis team, and we did show them what we've got. We also showed ourselves what we've got. We practiced hard, and played hard, and competed hard. We met other players, and coaches, and fans. We also met other girls who played tennis, and who shared our passion, and who became our friends. We traveled to other schools, and played in tournaments, and won some matches, and lost some matches. We also learned from our mistakes, and from our opponents, and from ourselves. We grew as players, and as people. We also grew as writers. We started to write about our experiences, and our feelings, and our dreams. We wrote about how tennis inspired us, and challenged us, and transformed us. We wrote about how it taught us about discipline, and perseverance, and teamwork. We also wrote about how it taught us about identity, and diversity, and empowerment. We wrote about how it helped us to find our voices, and to share our stories, and to connect with others. We wrote about how it helped us to become who we are. One day, I showed my classmate a poem I wrote about her and her tennis racket. It went like this: She has a tennis racket, Not a sword or a gun, But a tool of power, A symbol of fun. She holds it with grace, And swings it with skill, She hits the ball hard, And makes it go still. She's not just a girl, With a racket in hand, She's a warrior of sport, With a heart of command. She's not just a player, In a game of the few, She's a leader of change, In a world that is new. She has a tennis racket, And a spirit that soars, She's a force to be reckoned, And a friend to adore. My classmate read the poem, and smiled. She looked at me, and at her racket, and at the world. She felt proud, and grateful, and happy. "Thank you," she said, hugging me. "That's beautiful. That's how I feel, too." "You're welcome," I said, hugging her back. "That's how we feel, together." We looked at each other, and at the racket, and at the world. We felt strong, and confident, and true. We also felt connected, and supported, and loved. We knew that we had each other, and that we had our tennis rackets, and that we had our stories. We also knew that we had something more: a sense of purpose, and a sense of belonging, and a sense of empowerment. We knew that we were not alone, and that we were not afraid, and that we were not limited. We knew that we could be who we