Watching Serena

“Fifth grade is when the boys make jokes every time they hear the word ‘balls,’” my eleven-year-old daughter informs me.

We’re watching the Australian Open on TV and the sight of the yellow tennis ball zinging over the net has sparked Eve’s revelation. It’s true that you tend to have some of the best conversations with your tweens and teens when you’re driving: there are fewer distractions, little embarrassing eye contact, and the car provides a safe and private cocoon. But television as a talk catalyst is absolutely overlooked.

It’s not always predictable which shows will prime the pump. Of course, the news sends us to our atlas and a-Googling. Old-school, moral-laden sitcoms like Full House routinely set up discussions. But other TV fare leads us in unexpected directions. Was it wrong for Haley to play up her sex appeal with minis on American Idol? Or, hey, we bought Marvin’s Magic Drawing Board and it never works like that! Where’s the line between lying and misleading.

Eve and I covered more provocative topics watching the sixty-three-minute Australian Open women’s final than Oprah does in a month. The huge contrast between the players gave us plenty of fodder. On one side there was Serena Williams, twenty-five, straining in her bright green dress with muscle, bosom, and butt, charging the court, all aggression and fire. On the other, there was Russian-born Maria Sharapova, nineteen, slender and strong, her long limbs lunging, her blue eyes fiercely focused.

How great for my daughter to see two women with such two different backgrounds and body types at the peak of their sport. Instead of anorexic models or air-head heiresses, we watched two hardworking, driven athletes at battle.

Other topics that came up naturally during the match: parental expectations, emigration, the breakup of the Soviet Union, racial discrimination, women’s rights, mourning, sibling rivalry, the International Date Line, and, a new standby for my eleven-year-old—jewelry styles. Thanks Maria and Serena.

Besides discovering that Eve finds some of the boys’ testicle jokes funny, I learned that she grieves deeply for her grandmother and is a little scared of New York City. I was reminded that her vocabulary needs work when I had to tell her that Pete Sampras is retired, not extinct.

The best thing about TV-spurred talk is spontaneity. I could have lectured Eve about the gray fears of the Cold War age, when we had fallout drills in school. Instead, watching Serena blast a winning volley, we talked naturally about how the greatest volleyer ever, Martina Navratilova, left her family and home behind the Iron Curtain to play tennis in the U.S.

The French Open is coming up soon, followed by Wimbledon and the U.S. Open. My daughter and I will be watching—and talking.