On the Line Read online

  We all looked forward to that match between Venus and Daddy like it was a Wimbledon final. We talked about it the whole time leading up to it. At least, Venus and I talked about it. At night, before we’d fall asleep, Venus would say, “Do you think I can beat him? Do you think I really have a chance?”

  I had no idea if she could beat him, because Daddy was such a good player. He was much stronger than Venus, obviously. He was bigger. And he was smart. He really understood the game. Plus, we were so young! Venus was only nine or ten. How could she hope to compete against a full-grown man? But I didn’t say any of these things to Venus. Most likely, it’s only in retrospect that I recognize them. At the time, I probably just thought, Yeah, sure, Venus can beat him. Why not? So that’s probably what I said.

  The day of the match finally arrived. It was set up at night, at one of the public parks. We all went out to watch. (You can bet Daddy opened a couple new cans of balls for the occasion.) I remember it as a real exciting moment, a highlight family event, and Venus beat him. She did! I don’t remember the score, but I don’t think Daddy eased up to let her win. It was a hard-fought match. Daddy was sweating. He was trying, most definitely. We were all there; we all saw it. But Venus beat him, she really and truly did, and we went to bed that night so happy because it meant that Venus could start playing in tournaments. It meant we’d both be playing, before long. We talked and talked and talked about it under the covers before we finally fell asleep.

  Sure enough, that’s what happened. Venus started playing, and we started bouncing around as a family to all these tournaments. For me, it was a mixed blessing. I was happy for Venus, and I really wanted her to do well, but now the focus shifted even more in her direction. Now Daddy started to spend even more time on her game. This was around the time they started signing me up for all those local recreational leagues so I’d have more of a chance to compete against kids my own age while Venus was out doing her tournament thing, but I wanted what Venus had. I wanted the chance to beat Daddy in my own match, so I could play tournaments, too.

  Every day, I’d say, “Daddy, let’s play. Give me a chance. I want to play in tournaments, like V.”

  But he’d always say, “Not yet, Meeka. You’re not ready.”

  I was so mad, so frustrated. I didn’t think there was anything I could do but wait for my chance, but then Venus was signed up for this one tournament and I had an idea. Venus was nine, so it was a 10-and-under tournament. I was eight. The germ of my idea was this: I used to play Office a lot with my sisters. It wasn’t really a game; it was more of a mind-set; we’d pretend to answer phones and fill out papers and sit at our kitchen table like it was a desk in a real office. It’s like playing House, only with phones and paperwork—a way to pretend we were grown-ups. So there I was one day, pushing around all these papers, when I noticed an application for this particular tournament. For some reason, we had two applications lying around, so I filled one out and sent it in. I didn’t have a checkbook, obviously, so I couldn’t pay the entry fee, but I sent in the entry form. Then, when the tournament came around on the calendar, I went along for the ride with Venus and the rest of my family, just like I always did. I didn’t say anything to anybody, not even my sisters.

  A lot of times, I’d take my racquet with me to these tournaments, because there was a chance to hit on one of the open courts, and there were usually other little sisters and little brothers running around, looking for something to do. Or, sometimes my mom or dad would hit with me, while Venus was resting between matches. So nobody thought anything of it that I was dressed to play, and when Venus went with my dad to go play her match I walked over to the registration table to see where I was in the draw. Pretty devious, huh? But I didn’t think I was doing anything wrong. I just wanted what Venus had. That was all I ever wanted, to be just like Venus—my role model, then and still—so I went out and took my turn like I had it coming.

  When I tell this story now, people are amazed that I had the nerve to do something this big behind my parents’ backs. They say that for an eight-year-old kid to go against authority like this is fairly remarkable—but I didn’t see it that way at the time. I thought there was a good chance I’d get into some kind of trouble over it, but that didn’t stop me. I was too excited to play to think of any negative consequences. The only potential negative, really, was that I wouldn’t play well, but I wasn’t too worried about that. I knew I could beat these girls. As long as I didn’t have to play Venus, I thought I had a shot.

  My plan almost backfired, because Venus won her match in no time at all, and before long my dad was looking for me. He didn’t like that I wasn’t around watching my sister. He didn’t like that he couldn’t find me. People kind of knew who we were at this point, so he started asking people if they’d seen me. He asked one of the tournament officials, and the guy said, “Oh, you mean the younger one? She’s playing her match on that court over there.”

  He nodded his head to indicate the court.

  Daddy thought there must be some mistake. He said, “No, sir. She’s not playing. She’s too young. She’s not signed up.”

  The guy said, “No, Mr. Williams. I’m afraid there’s no mistake. She’s in the other half of the draw. She’s playing right now.”

  My father couldn’t believe it, but the guy walked him over to where I was playing. I didn’t know he was there at the time. He stayed back, away from the court. That was just as well, since I don’t think I would have noticed him if he’d pulled up close. I was too focused on my match to worry what kind of trouble I’d get into once my parents found out I’d entered the tournament without their permission. Right then, I was only worried about my opponent. I had just turned eight a week or so earlier, but I was determined and single-minded even then. I was trying to run this girl all over the place and tire her out—and I was doing a pretty good job of it.

  I ended up winning that match, and when it was over I heard my dad’s sweet drawl coming at me from behind the fence. He said, “Meeka! Look at you! You won! You played great!”

  He was so positive, so upbeat. Here I’d thought I’d be in for another whupping, but he couldn’t have been more encouraging. I was prepared for punishment—at the very least, I thought I’d get a good talking-to—but it never came, and so for the time being I was just happy that Daddy was happy. And he was happy that I was happy.

  He said, “I can’t believe you won. I can’t believe my two girls both won. I’m so proud of you.”

  And he was proud, I could see that. He was beaming. My mother, too. And Venus, when she found out what I had done, she had a smile on her face like you wouldn’t believe. Not because I’d won, I don’t think, but because I had the brass to enter the tournament in the first place. Deep down, I think she knew I’d win if I had the chance to play, so she wasn’t surprised by the outcome. She was just surprised to see me playing.

  Right away, Daddy started talking about what I’d have to do to win my next match, the few things he saw in my game I might need to fix before the next round. Venus was in the other half of the draw, so I didn’t have to worry about facing her just yet. I had two other girls to get past on the way to the finals. I had never given the finals a thought going in, but after that first match I thought I could do well. My next opponent was a girl I used to play a lot in practice, so Daddy knew all kinds of ways for me to beat her. He said as long as I had entered I might as well go on to the finals.

  I said, “You really think I can beat her?”

  He said, “Meeka, you can do anything.”

  It worked out so he could be at that next match, to cheer me on, and then at the semifinal match, against another girl we knew, so he gave me some tips on how to beat her, too.

  Now things were getting exciting. It was a 10-and-under tournament and I was the youngest girl in the field, by a lot, so people were coming around to watch, to talk to my parents, to talk to me after my matches. All of a sudden, I had what Venus had. It was the most thrilling, encouraging
day. And so much fun! But then I realized these wins now put me in the finals against Venus, and all of a sudden I was intimidated. I knew I couldn’t beat her, because it was the final round of a sanctioned tournament. There’d be people watching, so I couldn’t cheat. Venus was just too good, and I was just too little.

  It was the first time we’d face each other in tournament play—the first time of many. And, of course, it was such a big, big deal in our family. My parents were so excited for both of us. They said afterward they didn’t know which one of us to root for. They just wanted us to play good tennis, and to have fun, and to learn from the experience. That became their standard response whenever we’d face each other. Our sisters were also terribly excited for both of us. And I was so excited for Venus. I really was. I tell that to people, and they think it’s just a line, but it’s the God’s honest truth. I always want the best for Venus when she’s out there on the court. I want her to make her shots, and hold her serve, and all that. Even if it means I’ll have to face her in the end. I just don’t want her to do all those things against me.

  My thinking has always been, Look, she’s the best player on the tour. Next to me. If you ask Venus, she’d probably say the same thing: “Serena is the best player on the tour. Next to me.”

  That’s how we felt as kids, too, and it wasn’t bluster or arrogance that had us feeling this way. No. It’s that we really were good. As soft as my game might have been, it was only that way in comparison to Venus’s game. Everyone else my age I could beat. Everyone else Venus’s age I could beat. At least, in and around Los Angeles. I’d seen all those girls play. I’d played most of them in practice, or in some recreational league or other. I didn’t have the power to beat them with anything but lobs and rallies and placement, but I had the shots. I had that mental edge, that toughness. Daddy had me thinking about my footwork, and moving my opponents around, and working my serve, and that was all fine against these other girls, but we all knew that finals match against Venus would be another story.

  Meanwhile, just before the final, my father came over to talk to me about the tournament fee. I think it was forty dollars—and naturally I hadn’t paid it. He’d spoken to the director between matches, and puzzled together how I’d sent in my own application, and he thought he’d have some fun with me about the fee. He said, “How you planning to pay for this tournament, Meeka?”

  It turned out he wasn’t really mad that I had entered. He was happy that I cared enough about playing to arrange this sneaky end around into the draw. And he was happy that I was doing well. But I had no money to pay my own way. I hadn’t thought things through that far, so now I had something else to worry about, along with going up against V in the final. It never occurred to me that he was just joking with me. I could see he was smiling, but you could never tell with Daddy. He was always smiling.

  He probably thought this would be a good distraction for me, to get my mind off my worries about facing Venus, and I guess it was. And yet, distraction or no, I couldn’t keep up with Venus. She beat me easily; 6–2, 6–2, I think. I tried my best, but she was playing at a whole other level. And I was happy for her, too, that she’d played so well. I was sad for me, though. Really. If I was any older, or more mature, I might have given myself permission to sulk or fuss about losing, but I didn’t think there was any room in the moment for me to be upset. It was Venus’s tournament, after all. I didn’t really belong there. I should have been happy for V that she’d won. She deserved to win. She was meant to win. But I was surely disappointed—and I couldn’t let on! Here I’d had this great tournament. I’d made it all the way to the finals. I was the youngest girl there. I got a lot of attention. But when you’re eight, you don’t have it in you to appreciate the big picture, so I remember feeling this huge letdown.

  At the awards ceremony right after, they gave Venus a nice gold trophy. They gave me a nice silver trophy as the runner-up. It was my first real trophy, so you’d think I’d be excited about it, but I just kept looking at Venus’s gold trophy and wishing I could have somehow beaten her. Oh my God, I wanted that gold trophy so badly.

  Venus could see I was upset. After all, she was my big sister. She was used to taking care of me. She knew just what to do to pick me up. She came up to me after the awards ceremony and said, “You know what, Serena? I’ve been thinking. I’ve always liked silver better than gold. You want to trade?”

  It was the sweetest, most selfless gesture. She set it out like I’d be doing her a favor by trading trophies. Took me completely by surprise, but we traded trophies right there. She was my big sister so I did what she said, and to this day that’s the most meaningful trophy I’ve ever received. I didn’t earn it, but I cherish it. It’s the only one I keep close—at my bedside, actually. Every night when I’m home, I go to bed and look at Venus’s gold first-place trophy from my first-ever tournament and count my blessings. That I have the world’s best big sister. That at eight years old I was able to beat all these girls a year or two older. That Daddy never did make me pay him back for that entry fee. That I wouldn’t have to play in those silly recreational leagues anymore, now that I had shown everyone I was ready to play in real tournaments. That my whole family was so incredibly supportive of me during that first tournament, just as they have been at every tournament since. And that no matter how many times Venus and I face each other on a tennis court, we’ll always be sisters.

  We’ll battle each other like nobody’s business, but the competition will never separate us.

  The buzz around Venus’s game only got louder as we developed, because she never lost a match as a junior player. Me, I didn’t lose many, but I did lose a few. And yet despite that small gap between us in terms of our records, the space between us in terms of our reputations was just huge. Venus was still the rising star, and I was still the kid sister. I started to think maybe that newspaper reporter was right, because our situation wasn’t about to change. Venus was still way taller than me, but a lot of times people couldn’t tell us apart. They’d call me Venus; they’d call her Serena. But once they saw us play, that made it easier. They could tell the fierce swan from the ugly duckling, no problem.

  After that first tournament, Daddy did what he could to make sure we didn’t compete against each other in a meaningful match. He put Venus in the 12-and-unders and me in the 10-and-unders. And that was how it was until we both turned professional. Venus went pro first, and I followed soon after, kind of like it first happened for us on the circuit in California. After that, we couldn’t really control when we’d face each other. We could only hope it wasn’t too early in the tournament, so we’d each have a chance to get on a roll and reach into the later rounds. Ideally, we’d stay out of each other’s way until the end.

  The very first time we competed as professionals was in the second round of the 1998 Australian Open. I’m skipping ahead here, but I want to finish out these thoughts about going up against Venus, and growing up as a player in her magnificent shadow. It was my first major (also known as a Grand Slam tournament), so I was pretty nervous. I’d ended the previous year ranked 99th in the world, so I was starting to make my mark. A couple years later, I’d see that 99 ranking on the way down, and it felt a whole lot different to me, but on the way up it felt great. On the way up, it was a real marker, the first time my rank reached into double digits—and then, into single digits. People around tennis were talking about how this was going to be a big year for me—but you have to remember, Venus was already making her mark. She was already ranked in the Top 20. I’d watched her struggle in her very first professional matches, then get it together and have some success. That’s why I think I went into that second-round match in Melbourne with a defeatist attitude, because Venus was playing so well, and because she was expected to play so well.

  It’s not that I was convinced I would lose, but I was resigned to it. It’s better to say I was prepared to lose—and, of course, that’s no way to prepare to win. (Sounds like one of my dad’s mo
tivational quotes!) In any case, that’s the kind of rookie mistake I used to make when I was just starting out. I’d put myself in the wrong frame of mind before a match, not realizing how important the mental part of the game was in relation to everything else I put out on the court. But my head was cluttered with so many negative thoughts, so many drags on my performance, there was just no way I could have played well.

  Yes, I was bigger and stronger than I was the first time I’d played Venus in that first-ever youth tournament. Goodness, I was nearly as big and strong as Venus. But I was only sixteen years old. It was my first full year on the tour. Nobody expected me to win. Everybody expected Venus to win. And even if I did manage to get past V and into the third round, nobody thought I’d have a shot at going much deeper in the tournament, against all that great competition. Most important, I didn’t think I’d have a shot. Venus, though, she had a shot—and she knew it. She’d been playing well enough to win the championship, so a part of me thought, Hey, this is my sister. She deserves to win. Better for her to win and go deep in the tournament than for me to win and get knocked out in the next round. That’s how this first matchup had me thinking. Like a loss to V would come with its own silver lining, because she’d get to keep playing. Like if I managed to win it would somehow knock both of us from the field.