A Thank You to My Favorite Coach

Today is Father's Day and I can't help but think of my love of baseball whenever I think of my dad.

Like on my 10th birthday, when I got my first real baseball mitt and spent the remaining daylight hours tossing around a ball with my father in the backyard. He also coached me on a few of my softball teams and set up a board on the back of the shed where I practiced pitching.

My father taught me many important life lessons as both my softball coach and my dad. There is one moment in particular that has stayed with me through the years. I was about 12-years-old; I was on the All-Star team and thought pretty highly of myself in comparison to the rest of the team. I also thought I was privileged in some way because my dad was the coach. One night at practice, I didn't get to bat. I was irritated, and in protest of the travesty I decided to throw down my glove and sit on it right at third base. I figured that would show him, but in turn he just showed me a seat on the bench.

From that night on, I think I was always a little more patient when it came to waiting my turn in practice. I also learned that just because I was an All-Star and because my dad was the coach, I wasn't going to get any special treatment. It was a lesson in the anatomy of a team--and in life--and I have never forgotten it.


Looking back, I realize I never fully appreciated everything my dad did for me. After working all day, he'd take me to practice and games, things that ate up his whole night when I'm sure he would rather be doing something else (like drink beer and chop wood). Instead, he did it not only for me, but also for my sister who joined me on the team and for my brother years before.

There isn't a home video where I can remember my dad not being present (and not just because he was the only one who knew how to operate the camera). I remember one home video moment when me and my sister, about four and two-years-old, respectively, greeted my father with dirty hugs when he came home from work. He didn't even flinch out of fear his dress shirt would get ruined.

My sister and I were both messy from a hard day of play in the sandbox when Megan started to eat some green tomatoes from mom's tomato plants (which I'm sure we picked earlier to add to our "soup"). My favorite part of this moment is when my dad, dressed in a shirt and tie and fresh from his day job, began his job as dad almost immediately and tried to pry the green tomatoes out of Megan's messy mouth and hands.

It might sound like a silly story, but it reminds me that my dad was always there for us, whether we needed or wanted him to be there or not. Because he was "Mr. Mean" and made multiple uses of paint sticks and flyswatters (trust me, the threat of bug guts is enough to scare any kid), all three of us grew up to become pretty great adults. I have two pretty great parents, who were willing to teach us everything they knew and above all, give us all the love they had.

Now that I am 27 and living nearly 1,000 miles away, I often find myself in a nostalgic state of mind and thinking back on fun family times. I never had a lot of the materialistic articles my friends had when they were growing up (like designer clothes and fancy toys), but I do have a renewed appreciation for the things I did have and would never trade them for the world if I had to do it all over again.

Like the millions of memories I have from summers spent camping. Because of that, I know how to make a real S’mores, roast hot dogs on a stick and make apple pies over the campfire. And because of my dad, I know how to build and start a proper campfire and understand the ins and outs of fishing, even without proper bait (balls of white bread and bologna will do). And even though I still refuse to hook a worm and unhook a fish, my dad made sure I knew how to do it right nonetheless.

Although there are many things I still fear in life, my dad has helped ease some of them. Last summer when I was getting worried about moving and again in the fall when I was homesick and concerned about my finances, he was there to assure me I'd be fine. He shared stories of his Navy days and how little he was able to survive on. He told me a few months away from the family would be doable; he spent months and sometimes even a year at a time stuck at sea and away from his parents. He told me how when he went to Purdue, he moved to Indiana with nothing but a large chest full of his belongings (this was perhaps in reaction to the several boxes I shipped to Chicago).

This Easter, my dad sent me a package to remind me that he and my mom were thinking of me back home. He filled a shoe box with dollhouse furniture and taped jellybeans to the bottoms of each one. He called it an "Easter Egg Hunt in a Box." It made me laugh and reminded me of all the years he probably got up very early to hide the eggs, and the one year he tried to make us believe the Easter Bunny had left a jellybean trail to our baskets.


On this Father's Day, I hope a simple blog post will let my father know that I am thinking of him on his special day.

Dad, if you're reading this just know that the life lessons you tried to instill in me while growing up have stuck. I know sometimes I don't always tell you how much I appreciate you, like those times when you helped me with my taxes, changed my car's oil and coached my softball teams (all at one time or another surely complemented with an attitude), I remember each one and promise to repay you someday.

And while I watch the Red Sox play on TV tonight, I will remember the times I sat with you in your basement workshop listening to the Bruins on the radio. That was the moment I came to love following professional sports. And maybe one day if I'm lucky enough to cover a game in real life, I'll think of you again and how you've made me the person I am today.

Thanks for being the World's Greatest Dad (the t-shirts and ties don't lie). Happy Father's Day to the best coach any daughter could ask for.