It didn't take long for my parents' anxiety to kick in about whether they were having a boy or a girl. When the time came and “girl” was announced during the ultrasound my father was more than excited (although he might never admit to it). Knowing a daughter was coming along, you would expect someone to prepare with pretty pinks, animal-themed onesies, and princess pacifiers. The morning I came home, I was dressed in a football onesie with a matching pacifier ready to watch my first game.

My father was teaching me how to scream “touchdown” before how to say my name. We practiced throwing a baseball instead of tying shoes. We watched war movies instead of Disney Channel. We looked at the gun aisle instead of the toy aisle. We played video games instead of with Barbie Dolls. My first tailgate happened when I was two years old and I have been attending games ever since. While girls danced, played with American Girl dolls and competed in gymnastics I spent my time in the dugouts of baseball fields cheering along the sidelines as my father coached. Needless to say at this point, my dad and I had a different kind of father-daughter relationship.

I grew older and even a little girlier, but I never grew out of loving the way my father raised me. I was raised to take care of myself. To never give up. To never miss game day. Most importantly, I was raised to never "throw like a girl." If a boy would have been born before me, I probably would not have the relationship I have with my father. I am thankful for everything he has done for me. Most importantly, I am thankful for him teaching me to be independent. My father was cut out to raise a boy, but he ended up raising a girl flawlessly. He is my best friend, my first love and number one man.