My dad was a really intense competitor and that rubbed off on me. He was loud and vocal on the court, so I let him do all the talking. But I developed a kind of quiet intensity that I knew I had to have to improve and compete with grown men. It took every ounce of focus.

I couldn't be messing around and acting like an 11-year-old if we expected to compete well. I wanted to compete well, because it was great to see the looks in the eyes of men—like, "Wow, I am having a hard time beating this kid."

It's hard to give a career like this up, when I tell my wife I'm going to the office, and it's the beach.

I thank my dad for my mental longevity and for the fact we played against better competition.

I don't have to get myself pumped up or calm myself down. As we get into the later rounds of a tournament and there is more at stake, I have even more adrenaline. If we make the finals, it's just an extra opportunity to win a tournament at my age. That doesn't come along that often.

A lot of guys are out there with their iPods. I'm not one of them. I just never really got into it.

One of the best ways to [improve my longevity] that is to minimize injury or avoid it by being more flexible—especially when we are meeting at the net. There is a hitter and blocker, which means a lot foot contact, where you can twist your ankle easily.