While Cory cracks tennis balls across the street, Fisher usually rides his bike up and down it, trying lamely not to get hit — but kind of loving it when he does.
D (asking only once): Are you sure you don’t want to work out some wiggles by hitting some balls?
F: No, thanks. I’ll work out my wiggles on my bike, Daddy. Thanks for asking, though, Daddy.
That was when things were some kind of even: she had the stronger forehand (by far); he, the better backhand (by far). Within fifteen minutes of the backhand side clicking for Cory, he, without prompting, parks his bike, takes off his helmet, and wanders inside. He returns a couple minutes later with his racket.
F (lining up next to Cory): Daddy, I’m on the line!
It’s apparently time to work on that forehand.