Federer: Meet Finley

So the other day my Dad stopped by a garage sale by his work and snagged me a little tennis racket and this morning he promised me we'd play. But before I am ready for the big tennis court we thought we'd get started with some beginner's play in the garage.

As you'll see, I decided to put on my soccer uniform on to play tennis. This makes no sense.

Did I mention my form was perfect?

And here's me with Coach.

PT

"Hey Coach, can I get some PT?!" That's what a ballplayer would say to his coach in order to get more playing time (which is what PT stands for).

But when I yelled that out to Mom the other day I meant, "Hey Mom, can I get a pony tail?!" so she obliged.

(Side note: If we're doing baseball analogies here, Mom is more like the owner and Dad is more like the Head Coach. So, like, Dad can make the decision about which starting pitcher to put in (which would be like whether or not I can go outside without shoes on) or if we should put on a double steal (which would be like letting me stay up late so we can rough-house) BUT, Dad can always be reprimanded by the Owner (after I go to bed) and even fired (well, not really, but you get what I mean) if things don't work out (I cut my foot on a rock or can't go to sleep until 10:00 because I'm all wound up).

There were a lot of parenthesi in that last paragraph but they were all necessary.

So, without further ado, "Hey Coach, can I get some PT?!"