It started as just another day at the tennis court, a friendly match between departments at work. Laughter, lighthearted competition, and the rhythmic thud of balls against rackets filled the air. But then I noticed something peculiar.
An old man, perhaps in his seventies, walked slowly along the perimeter of the court, bending down to collect stray tennis balls. His movements were deliberate, his hands trembling slightly as he picked up each ball with care. My co-workers noticed my distraction and turned their heads to see what had caught my attention. For a few moments, we all just watched him.
Before long, the club manager must have spotted him too. He sighed and motioned for one of the staff members to intervene. A young employee hurried over and, after a brief exchange, gently shooed the old man away. The manager then walked over to us, shaking his head in exasperation.
“I’m so sorry for the distraction,” he said. “We can’t seem to get rid of him. He comes here every other week, picking up balls. We’ve told him to stop, but he keeps coming back.”
I frowned. “No problem,” I said. “No one was going after those balls anyway.”
But something about what the manager said stuck with me. Why would someone in his seventies keep coming back to collect old tennis balls? It wasn’t like they had much resale value. The thought nagged at me throughout the match. When we wrapped up, curiosity got the better of me. I grabbed my bag and hurried after the old man, following him at a distance as he left the club.
He moved slowly, but with determination, carrying a bag now partially filled with balls. Just as I was getting close, he turned a corner and entered a small, unassuming building. I hesitated for a moment before stepping inside—and what I saw made my heart drop.
It was an animal shelter.
The old man walked up to a volunteer, his hands shaking slightly as he handed over the bag of tennis balls. The volunteer greeted him with a warm smile, like they had known each other for years. My gaze wandered around the shelter—dogs of all sizes wagged their tails excitedly, some already chewing on tennis balls, others looking expectantly toward the bag in the old man’s hands.
Another volunteer noticed my staring and approached me. “Yeah, he’s been doing this for over four years,” she said with a chuckle. “Every time we get new dogs, he brings them tennis balls. He collects so many that when a dog gets adopted, they get to take a ball home with them.”
I felt a lump in my throat. All this time, he had endured being shooed away and treated like a nuisance—just to bring joy to abandoned dogs.
I couldn’t leave without talking to him. I walked over, introduced myself, and told him how much I admired what he was doing. He looked at me with kind but tired eyes and gave a small, shy smile.
“I lost my wife a few years ago,” he said softly. “My kids live in different states, so it’s just me now. I needed something to do, something that made me feel useful. My son used to work at that tennis club years ago and always joked about how many balls got lost. One day, I realized they could bring happiness to these dogs, and, well… here I am.”
I hesitated before asking, “Why don’t you come at night? That way, the staff wouldn’t bother you.”
He chuckled. “I’m too old to see in the dark. And that terrain’s tricky—I could easily trip and fall.”
I knew right then I had to do something. The next day at work, I brought it up with my team. We were big clients at the club, and I figured we could leverage that. The next time we played there, we pulled the manager aside and explained the old man’s story.
“He doesn’t bother anyone,” I argued. “He even helps clean up the balls. If anything, he’s doing you a favor.”
To my relief, the manager actually listened. But he didn’t just agree to leave the old man alone—he went a step further. From then on, a club employee was assigned to gather the stray balls and set them aside for him. The next time he arrived, they simply handed him a bag.
I watched from a distance as the old man received the bag of balls without needing to collect them himself. He didn’t need an explanation—he knew I had something to do with it. He gave me a knowing glance and a grateful nod before heading off to the shelter.
From then on, every time he came by, my team and I made it a point to invite him to sit with us for a cold lemonade and a chat between matches. We just wanted to spend time with someone who had such a beautiful heart.
It’s easy to dismiss people when we don’t know their story. Sometimes, the ones we overlook are the ones making the biggest difference.
If this story touched you, share it with others. Maybe it’ll remind someone to look a little closer before making assumptions.
