ข่าวจาก....บางกอกโพสต์
http://www.bangkokpost.com/en/Outlook/22Jan2005_out51.php

มติชนเคยลงเรื่องของน้องเค้ามาทีนึงแล้ว วันนี้อ่านเจอในบางกอกโพสต์.....หน้าแรก outlook 1หน้าเต็มๆ!!!! ซึ่งบทความนี้ทำให้รู้จักน้องเค้ามากขึ้นมาอีก.......

ภาษาอังกฤษยาวเหยียด แต่ก็อยากให้ลองอ่านกัน ^^
*** แทนหน้ายิ้ม :-) ด้วยคำว่า... วาย - อี - ที นะ คำนี้มันโดนแบนอ่ะ - -'
โว้ย!!...พิมพ์เลี่ยงๆ แล้วก็ยังไม่ให้ผ่านอีก edit ข้อความหลายรอบแล้วนะเฟ้ย พันทิปเนี่ย >:)

--------------------------------------------

The ball's in her court


She's no Tamarine Tanasugarn -- not :-), anyway -- but this young tennis player's a real fighter;
she may lose a match but she's already licked the game


Story by HEAMAKARN SRICHARATCHANYA, Photos by YINGYONG UN-ANONGRAK
.
.
.
The teenager backhands the tennis ball hard. The green projectile hurtles away across the net and she turns around to face her rival. It's only then that spectators notice that something is amiss. The girl's left forearm is truncated, ending a few inches below her elbow. Hatairat Ratanachongkol was born this way. The reason is still unknown; doctors have never been able to come up with a satisfactory explanation. Now 14, she can take care of herself perfectly well and -- to the surprise of many -- has proven that her disability is no obstacle to playing tennis.


Over the past three years Hatairat has participated in some 20-odd national competitions, always competing against able-bodied girls. Although she hasn't made it all the way to the finals :-), she has thrashed a string of opponents.

"But it's not about losing or winning," said her father, Sinchai. "It's about her having the courage to walk out onto the court and play against normal girls, with everyone watching and wondering whether she'll make it through the match."


Hatairat started playing tennis at the age of nine. Her whole family -- her parents, elder brother and two elder sisters -- had decided to take tennis lessons, and she didn't want to be left out. Sinchai concedes that initially he wasn't sure whether his youngest daughter would be able to carry it off; for the conventional wisdom is that tennis players require two hands to serve a shot: one to throw the ball into the air, the other to hit it.


"I was worried. I didn't know what words I could use to explain to her that she wasn't up to the task," Sinchai recalled, adding that he'd probably have suggested swimming as an alternative since people with much more serious disabilities than Hatairat can swim perfectly well. "But it was such a relief when I realised that she could do it."


At the start, Kematat Boosarangsi, a coach in his 40s who works full-time at the tennis courts, thought the best approach would be to teach Hatairat how to do everything with her right arm.


"Having only one hand isn't an obstacle to playing tennis," he said. "I knew from the very beginning that she could do it."


But while it may not be a major barrier, it is inevitably a disadvantage to be one-handed. For backhand shots Kematat said he normally trains students to hold the racket with both hands in order to increase the power of their stroke. To get around this problem he suggested that Hatairat lift weights to increase the strength of her good arm. Since she obviously can't lift weights with her bad arm, Hatairat devised a clever way to build up the muscles in that limb, too: she works out on a step-machine, pressing down on the apparatus not with her feet but with the elbow of her left arm.


Another challenge, said the coach, was to train Hatairat how to rapidly change her grip from forehand to backhand. To make things easier, he got her to switch to a light-weight racket with a wider throat, the technical term for the hole between the struts which connect the handle to the head. Hatairat can now complete the operation in one smooth, fluid movement; she inserts the stump of her arm into the throat of the racket and then simply flips it around.


As Hatairat's self-confidence grew, she taught herself how to serve just like able-bodied players do, gripping the ball in the crook of her left arm then tossing it up into the air.


"It was quite a surprise," recalled her coach. "I'd simply overlooked that arm; I never thought it would be of any use."


At the age of 12, Hatairat took part in her very first tennis competition. Her courage and the fact that she showed no embarrassment about her disability made everybody who knows her very proud.


"I was the one who wasn't sure if she'd dare to walk out onto the court with all those able-bodied players around," Kematat admitted. "But when her name was announced, she strode out, carrying a water bottle and with a most determined look on her face. Her appearance certainly raised lots of eyebrows."


And despite being defeated in that match, Hatairat won the hearts of spectators, her coach said.

But not the hearts of all those present, perhaps. Sinchai recalled how awful he felt when, at another match some time later, he overheard a woman speaking to her daughter: "The mother said,


'Look! You're up against a one-armed girl. You'll surely beat her'."


What they didn't know was that the man sitting next to them on the stands was the father of that girl. Luckily, Hatairat wasn't around to hear that callous remark.

"I was hurt ... sure, " Sinchai said. "But the pain wasn't as severe as the thought that that woman had passed judgement on my daughter before she'd even seen her play. Wouldn't it have been better if she'd waited 10 minutes into the match before making that comment?"


In any case, the woman's daughter ended up losing the match to Hatairat.

And, thankfully, not everyone is so dismissive. Sinchai has warm memories of the aftermath of another match -- which Hatairat lost. He and his daughter were walking home when the winner and her parents happened to drive past. Noticing Hatairat, they reversed the car, rolled down a window and explained that they just wanted to say how happy they were that their kid had got the chance to play against Hatairat. "That was great encouragement for us," Sinchai said.


By this stage Sinchai has become used to the put-downs and the insulting remarks. But it is now increasingly rare, he said, for that to happen because Hatairat has become a familiar face on the local tennis circuit and people no longer doubt her ability. "She isn't the best in her age group," he said, "but she isn't the worst either."


Hatairat is a very reserved girl. She doesn't express her feelings much; it's the same whether she wins or loses. Her father, likewise, tries to suppress his joy when she does beat an opponent.

"Many of the girls who lose matches to my daughter walk off court with tears in their eyes. Maybe they're feeling humiliated at losing to a disabled person. So I always walk over and try to calm them down first before going on to congratulate my girl. I tell them not to cry, that they could very well beat Hatairat in some future match."

When Hatairat is herself the loser, Sinchai simply assures her afterwards that she's done a good job. "But she never cries," he said. "I think that despite losing she's always happy to know that she's performed to the best of her ability."

Even at the best of times Hatairat is a girl of few words. She is taciturn with her coach, with friends even, hardly speaking to anyone other than family members.

"Maybe she thinks people dislike her for being different," her father speculated.

This poses a big challenge for her family. Sinchai has encouraged her to speak out more but to no avail, as :-). She rarely responds when asked a question. Utter silence. A smile at best.

"I've told her that behaving like that can come across as rude," her father said. "But I think it'll take a while more for her to adapt, fit herself into society."


Certainly, being perceived as different has had an impact on her life. Although Hatairat can play against -- and sometimes beat -- able-bodied people, Sinchai thinks she has a bit of an inferiority complex. "It's impossible to say that she doesn't feel anything [about not being the same as others] . We just have to work out ways to reduce those feelings of being inferior."

What he has done is to impress upon his daughter, from early on, the importance of coming to terms with the fact that she is disabled -- something about which she has never complained, he added.

"I told her, 'you'll have to live with the word ai-duan [one-armed] because this label will be with you for the rest of your life. So you'll just have to learn to accept the fact. But remember that your being disabled doesn't cause trouble for other people'."

Sinchai has also advised her not to associate with so-called "friends" who make fun of her. " A person who mocks the disabled doesn't have a good heart," he reasoned.

She seems to have been lucky in this regard, however. She's currently in Mathayom 2 at Wat Nak Noradit and her father doesn't recall her having any problems with mean classmates since she entered the school system at kindergarten level.

And apart from her unwillingness to talk, Sinchai has no worries about his little girl. He said she's already proven that she's more than capable of taking care of herself. She returns home from school on the bus by herself. And she knows her way around the kitchen, too; Sinchai said she likes to cook, often making a batch of French fries or putting a noodle dish together for other members of the family.


"She doesn't like to give up.
Neither does she like to ask for help," he said.

"And that's the quality of a real fighter, isn't it?"

---------------------------------------------

น้องเอ๋ย...พี่เกิดมาจะ3 ทศวรรษ....
ใจพี่ยังไม่ได้ครึ่งของน้องเลย - -'

คุณพ่อและโค้ชของน้องก็เยี่ยมจริงๆ
วงการเทนนิสเรานี่มียอดคุณพ่อเพิ่มขึ้นแล้วอ่ะมั้งเนี่ย ^^

สู้โว้ย!!!..ค่ะน้อง >:)

   

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