Sunday, January 27, 2008
Casey's nan - our latest tennis star
Originally published in The Sunday Age , 27 January 2008.
Jo-Wilfried Tsonga might have stormed his way into the final of the Australian Open, but one of the biggest revelations of the tournament didn't even set foot on the court. The name Bev Kirwan-Ward may not ring any bells, but mention Casey Dellacqua's nanna, and people know who you're talking about.
Casey was almost outstripped for star-wattage by Nanna Bev, who rode every moment of Casey's career-best run with a smile on her face, a twinkle in her eye, and an Australian-flag-tiara wedged in her carefully set curls. There was none of the steely-eyed professional indifference that we've become accustomed to from players' entourages; Casey's nan was incapable of concealing her emotions, and as she vacillated from joy to anxiety to teary pride, her openness and vulnerability brought out the affection many of us feel for our nannas.
Those of us fortunate enough to have wonderful grandmothers love them, simply, because they love us. Parents, of course, enjoy their kids. But wrapped up in parental pleasure is a lot of hard work: sleep deprivation, nappy-changing, disciplining in the face of Corey-esque recalcitrance.
Nannas don't have to worry about any of that. They did the work years ago with their own children. Now, they can spoil their grandkids and let someone else deal with the consequences and pour a whopping gin and tonic and have a lie down if the toddlers are getting a little rowdy.
Bev seemed to enjoy herself greatly at the tennis, and why wouldn't she? This was her granddaughter, succeeding on the biggest stage at something she's worked for her whole life. But even so, to a nanna such as Bev, the success itself is far more important than the stage it's on.
Nannas don't need context, they don't need to know how important a tournament or an exam or a race is — all they want is for their grandkids to be happy. And that's what Bev got: a happy granddaughter who surprised even herself with how well she played. Bev was having the time of her nanna-life and we loved her because we could see it on her face: real emotion, real joy, and real unconditional nanna-love.
But nannas don't last forever. For many of us, the passing of a grandparent is our first significant encounter with death. It's an experience that goes to the heart of why we warmed to Bev: we know our nannas won't be around as long as we'd like. One of my nannas used to go toe-to-toe with me as we played Wheel of Fortune from her lounge room. She used to deliver spirited lectures on the magnificence of the Labor Party and Gough Whitlam. And, a tennis fan like Bev, she'd happily while away the summer watching her favourites (Pat Rafter and the Woodies) volley their way to Davis Cup glory. She even spent an afternoon a year or two ago watching Casey play. Not on Rod Laver Arena in the fourth round of the Australian Open, but on the back courts of Dendy Park in a $5000 satellite tournament. Casey won and my nanna was thrilled.
My nan's 91 now and not as alert as she used to be, so those events aren't so frequent anymore. But every so often, at a family barbecue or birthday lunch or just over an afternoon cup of tea, she'll give us a glimpse of the magic of the nanna, the magic that so delighted us all when we saw it in Bev. She'll look around the room, and with a huge grin on her face declare to her assembled grandkids: "You are just the most wonderful boys and girls. I love you all." And we know that she means every word.