Happy Birthday Book Review
Today is the 87th birthday of my BTB—Best Tennis Buddy—who, when on the courts, turns into a twenty-five year old athlete. Her forehand cross-court, most of the time, rockets past me, unreachable and un-returnable. She has this dinky drop shot that catches me totally unaware as I stand behind the service court line, literally dumbfounded as I watch it plop just over the net. It's gets me every time. And Betty knows it, using it to her best advantage.

Now, while we do keep score, we are not competitive; we do not play to win. We play for the sheer pleasure of being out on the courts together—when it's not as hot as this week has been—enjoying the balmy weather and the grace, finesse, and elegance of the age-old game once called the "sport of kings", playing it as it should be played. Tennis, Betty often tells me, is “...not a game of power. You don’t have to win to enjoy playing it. It's just a game—a game to be enjoyed with friends. It's fun!". The muscular, high-powered hitters on the pro-circuit today, despite their ambitions, bravado, and millions of dollars won, could learn a lot from my friend. Yeah, maybe you are number one in the world and you've won Roland Garros and aspire to win the U.S. Open. But are you having as much fun as Betty and I have together out on our small, ratty courts? I sincerely doubt it.

During the twelve or so years since we started playing together, our mutual love and respect for the game of tennis has become the foundation of a solid friendship. Betty and I have interesting conversations and often deep discussions between sets and after our afternoon matches, sitting on a bench shaded by a huge, old pine tree. We share stories, jokes, and trade books—both of us are great readers with similar tastes in literature. I have come to honor and respect her, her opinions and, often, her sage advice, sometimes given in tandem with her equally sage husband, Joe. They share with me illustrative moments of their lives, as well as provide support and encouragement. As a matter of fact, I dare to say, Betty is probably the wisest and nicest woman I know. Almost to the point when sometimes I teasingly and most affectionately call her "Mom".

My BTB doesn't celebrate Mother's Day, per se, stating that "Everyday is Mother's Day." So, each year for the last ten or so, we've spent the better part of the designated Sunday afternoon playing tennis. It's during these matches that I often think of my birth mother who I believe smiles down on the both of us, glad to know that there is someone here in the later years of my life helping to guide me through. Someone once told me—probably Betty—that if you "do for one mother, you do for all". And I've come to believe that.

In an underlying sense, this is one of the major themes of Mia March’s second novel, Finding Colin Firth, released earlier this month. Mia has the knack of getting to the nub of what it truly means to be a family. In her novel, set in Boothbay Harbor, Maine, the actor, Colin Firth, is incidentally vital to the plot in which three women learn what "motherhood" really means.