Sorry, folks; I ain't THAT John Millman; just ask Roger

Let's set the record straight. My name is John Millman and I play tennis, but I'm not THAT John Millman. I'm 63 years old and he's 29. I couldn't beat Roger Rabbit in tennis, let alone Roger Federer. Hell, I can't even beat my diminutive and beautiful wife, Phuong. I love tennis and I'm a fan of the 29-year-old John Millman of Australia because he's gritty, persistent, focused and incredibly devoted to his profession and conditioning. I'm sadly lacking those qualities -- personally and professionally -- and the results have been borne out in a mediocre life without any notable accomplishments, other than my five fantastic children. John Millman of Australia deserves the spotlight because he has persevered though serious injuries and countless Challenger Tour and less-prestigious tournaments in remote locations -- such as Ho Chi Minh City -- to reach the bright lights of the U.S. Open in New York. He seems like a real gentleman to me and I couldn't be happier for him. Actually, I shouldn't have the exact name as this other Millman. My last name should be spelled Milman -- with one l -- but the hospital misspelled my grandfather's name on his birth certificate, and it stuck. My great-grandfather Elijah Milman (note the one l) was something of a legend in Georgetown, Del., according to my dad, who was something of an exaggerator when it came to family. Anyway, Elijah supposedly could open a clam with his bare hands, and he had 11 children. He was a farmer, and didn't play tennis.
Me? I'm an English teacher and former journalist.  I can open a beer with one hand if I have a good opener and I have five children. I can only imagine the reaction of people around the world when they opened my blog looking for information on the Australian who defeated Federer and tested Novak Djokovic at the U.S. Open. Instead, they saw my puffy, wrinkled face, which is a far cry from the chiseled, good-looking Australian tennis professional they were expecting to see. Well, there's good news for me. My blog got more hits in one day -- from all over the world -- than it usually gets in a couple of weeks. Sorry, folks; the Internet can be a funny place -- not funny ha-ha, but funny as in peculiar.

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I've been taking Joanna for long morning walks three to four times a week.  We have a structure to our walks more than a fixed route. We'll cruise around the park a couple of times as Joanna sits in her stroller. Then, I'll pick Trứng cá for Joanna, who leaves her stroller to join me and enjoy this delicious little berry, also known as a Jamaican cherry.  Joanna will eat as many as I pick. The fruit has countless health benefits, and we're the only ones eating them, so it's a good father-daughter activity. But, the Jamaican cherry tree grows next to an open sewer/canal at the park, so I don't stay as long as I would like. The tree is also next to a fairly busy street that has lots of fast-moving traffic, which results in lots of staring and a great deal of danger for my daughter. Cars, trucks and motorbikes in Bien Hoa don't slow down for little children any more than they slow down for the White Monkey, so I have to be constantly vigilant while I try to pick the Trứng cá. I don't take my eyes off Joanna for a second when we go out here, of course, and it makes what should be a relaxing experience a little tense. I think Joanna understands the perils of life on the outside here, but after all, she's only 26 months old. After Joanna gets her fill of berries, she stays out of the stroller and walks the length of the park with me.  We used to look at the fish in aquariums at a restaurant, but one of the managers yelled at Joanna for touching the outside of a tank. I gave him a death stare and now we very rarely go there. The Mickey Mouse mural nearby is covered in red ants, so it's an occasional, careful visit. Sometimes, we'll go along Vo Thi Sau street to shop at a local market.  Having Joanna with me seems to lighten the mood with most strangers, who smile and try to talk with her. She's wisely wary of strangers and hates being touched by them. I intervene before they can pinch her  cheeks, a local favorite. Other than the vehicles that don't care about a baby in a stroller, it's a very pleasant morning with my daughter.

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 I'll circle back to tennis for a moment. Phuong was playing the match of her life against me on Thursday, taking a 3-1 lead with solid serving and incredible shot-making. I was playing well, but she was on fire. Then, Joanna came out on the court and we stopped play. Joanna refused to leave, and ran away from us when we tried to pick her up. Phuong finally corralled her, but when we returned to playing, Phuong had lost her mojo. We stopped with the score tied 4-4 and Joanna still running wild everywhere. I owe her. Joanna clearly saved me from a thumping at the hands of Phuong, and the No. 1 ranking in our family remains up in the air.