For as long as I can remember, my dad coached high school football. He started in 1989 which was seven years before I was born. In 1990, he began coaching in the school district he would eventually teach Physical Education. This district happened to be the same one that my family lived in and the same school I would go on to graduate from. Having a father who coaches at your school adds a special, indescribable connection and sense of pride for the school district and community. A high school football team tends to be the heart and soul of a school. The boys wear their jerseys on Friday to school during the day and the community comes out to support them that night. To know my dad had a hand in something so important to the community made me proud. Growing up as the daughter of a high school football coach was not always easy, there were hard days for sure, but the memories and life lessons outweigh those hard days.

I don’t remember much of my early years because I spent most of my time bundled up in my stroller on those chilly autumn nights, but my mom and I were there supporting dad.From the time I could walk, until I was a senior in high school, my sisters and I would find our dad after each game and meet him at half field after the teams shook hands. Regardless of the outcome of the game, my dad always greeted us with a huge smile and said, “Hi girls!! How is mom?” Win or lose, home or away, we would quietly walk to the post game huddle with our dad and listen as the boys and the coaches debriefed on the events of the game. I remember following dad around the field as they cleaned up and I tried my best to help, but often times I was just chasing my sisters around.

I use to feel bad that my dad had three girls and no sons to pass the game of football onto. There were no boys who could grow up watching through his own program. My dad and I have a special connection, one I can thank football for. I always genuinely took an interest in the sport. He would often toss the football with me in the front yard, or draw up plays on his old palm pilot. He would explain that Mike, Sam and Will were nicknames for “middle” “strong side” and “weak side” linebackers. Daddy/Daughter time consisted of driving around the county to scout out opposing teams. I loved every second of it. I learned to love the game. He would explain all the crazy names they had for plays and I would giggle because they would make no sense to me. The older I got, and the more I understood the ins and the outs of the sport, I would beg my mom to let me stay up until my dad got home after games so I could ask him all of the questions I had during the game and talk about what worked and what didn’t that night. When my mom wouldn’t let me stay up, I would give her specific instructions to “send dad up as soon as he got home.”

When I was in my last years of elementary school, my dad asked me to be his team’s “ball girl!” I was so honored and excited because this meant I was able to not only spend extra time with my dad, I also got to be down on the field next to the real action, it was thrilling! I also got to spend time around the team, which was exciting, because what young girl doesn’t have a crush on the high school football players, right? I was in charge of switching out the footballs when our team changed from offense to defense, and I had to keep them dry when it was raining, so much responsibility for such a young girl! (My dad always said I was the best “ball girl,” shhh don’t tell my sisters!) Riding the bus home from away games with my dad was my all-time favorite part of being the “ball girl.” I sat on the school bus after devastating losses and I remember riding home after great victories, listening to the player make fun of each other and yell in excitement. We would return to school and my dad would open the locker room and let me tell you, if you have never smelled “football boys” before, consider yourself lucky. The whole locker room had a distinct smell of pads, sweat and teenage boys, not a fantastic combination. These are memories I have made that I can never forget.

Eventually I retired from my “ball girl” days and passed it on to my next sister in line. Friday nights were seen as “social events” once you hit middle school. My mom would let me walk to the other side of the stadium with my friends and hang out. My whole family was always at games supporting dad, so my mom was in the stadium but I felt like I had all the freedom in the world. My dad was the football coach, I acted like I owned the place. The middle school years were interesting, it would be freezing outside and I wouldn’t put on my big, puffy winter jacket because it didn’t seem “cool.” I eventually grew out of the stage because I realized being warm at football games were more important than being “cool.” My family, and the other football coach’s families always watched the home games from the end zone. I knew, no matter how far I wandered, I needed to be back at our spot with two minutes left in the fourth quarter to make sure I could walk out to the huddle with my sisters.

Let’s talk about the hard stuff. Being a high school football coach’s daughter was amazing, don’t get me wrong, but it came at a price sometimes. What people don’t understand is that being a football coach is a seven day a week job. Practices Monday through Thursday, game on Friday, film on Saturday (and sometimes scouting assignments) and Sunday evening were the coach’s meetings. Nothing was worse than Sunday night dinners, knowing dad had to leave for a meeting in a few hours. I would ask my mom a lot “when is dad coming home?” During the week my dad would leave for school before I even got up, and then he would have practice after he taught all day, and then he would wait around for kids who didn’t have rides. My dad wouldn’t get home until 6 p.m. sometimes even 7 p.m. When I was old enough, I played soccer for the same school. I played until eleventh grade.

While my dad was at everything he possible could have been at, he missed a fair amount of soccer games in my career growing up. He would scoot out early from practice whenever he could, but I understood, both of us being involved in fall sports makes for many conflicts. Thankfully my mom was always there! That stuff generally didn’t bother me because it was our way of life. Was it hard sometimes? Yes, of course, but I’ll tell you what was really hard. Parents. Wow, they can be so cruel, and everybody is an expert. Some of the hardest things I have ever gone through is listening to parents bash my dad during and after games. These parents spew hate and hurtful words and the CHILDREN, yes the coach’s kids stand by and listen. I have heard grown men scream at my dad and his colleagues from the bleachers saying they don’t know what they are doing, and they should be fired. Listening to adults tell my dad and his fellow coaches that “they suck” and “whoever is running the defense is horrible,” at the time when I was just a little girl was heartbreaking.

How could these people say that about my dad? The one who gives up hours of each day to prepare for your kid’s football team. Who missed tucking me into bed on Sunday nights because he was busy game planning for the upcoming week. Who was absent from soccer games because he was busy at practice spending time with your son, making sure that he felt valued and appreciated. That had to have been the hardest part of growing up a football coach’s daughter, watching your dad spend his time and energy into these kids, and missing out on some of his own kid’s things, to be screamed at and ridiculed. I specifically remember when I was a junior in high school and I was on the field after a sectional loss and the season was over. One specific parent was screaming and swearing at the coaches from the stands, tears welled in my eyes as I watched this, I mumbled some bad words under my breath because I was honestly so hurt that people can berate and harass someone who has done right by their child, and given up their own family time for your son. Growing up around that made being a coach’s daughter unimaginably hard.

I saw some of these players as the brothers I never had, and I am thankful for that. I often times run into former players at the local grocery store, and they always say hi and strike up a conversation. I tell them that I am 20 years old and just finished my sophomore year in college and they can’t believe that I am that old, they remember chasing me around the field and pinching my cheeks. I grew up with two biological sisters and hundreds of honorary brothers.

Being a coach’s daughter meant I would show up to triple sessions during the summer and run and kick my soccer ball around. I would ask my dad if I could go in and get a work out in the morning while he did their first session and then I would ask my mom if she could pick me up by lunch time. While yes, I did get to get my work out in, I would watch practice and sit in the back of classrooms during film sessions, I just had this interest in hanging around. Sitting in the coach’s office and just being around my dad. I would go to team lifts in the evening and do the agility and sprints with the boys. I would play the games at the end if they needed an extra person. I loved every second of this.

I remember the flutters in my heart when we were on the road just before the stadium on game days. Thinking mom, can you drive any faster?! It is game day and I just want to be at the stadium already! We would park and I would spring out of the car. Something about game day just made me unbelievably excited. We would walk up to the gate and say “We’re the Coach’s Family,” and we got to cut the line. When I was in high school, we started a “Coach’s Wives and Kids Club.” We even had a sign! My mom would bring a tent and the other wives would bring food, we had our own little tailgate party in the back of the end zone.

We would cheer loudly and proudly throughout the games, no matter what. It was not an uncommon experience to have a sore throat the day after games. And finally, when it was all over, we would meet our dad at the 50 yard line after the game. The big blinding stadium lights, the smell if my dad’s Big League Chew Gum, the fresh cut grass, and the many people who came out to support the team, are memories that are ingrained into my brain forever. I went through this phase when all I ate at football games were M&Ms. Sometimes when I eat them now, a weird feeling comes over me like I am eleven years old again at my dad’s football games.

Being the daughter of a football coach means that sometimes he misses out on certain things because he has practice. It means that when your high school boyfriend plays on your dad’s team, his colleagues tease him over the headsets about his “future son-in-law.” Being a daughter of a football coach means that I got to follow my dad around and experience things that normal kids don’t. I attribute my fierce competitiveness to being the daughter of a football coach. I have spent many years of my childhood watching a football program grow. I have seen win-less seasons and undefeated seasons. I have cried when my dad’s team gets beat in sectionals and I have cheered when they had an undefeated season. I have watched my dad treat parents with dignity and respect (when in my opinion they didn’t deserve it at all). I witnessed my dad mold young men. He has had players return to thank him years after they have graduated, he has also had players come back and lean on him for help.

I have witnessed my dad make an impact on lives, and that makes me the proudest daughter in the whole world. This is something my family has known and it’s “just what we do.” I have learned lessons on competing, integrity, sportsmanship and honesty through watching my dad coach. He had high standards for his players not only as athletes but as people. These values he taught to his players, whether he knew it or not, he was teaching to me. I am so thankful that I was the daughter of a high school football coach. My senior year, the last game of the season I met my dad at the 50 yard line (Yes, 17 years old and I still was meeting him for the huddle.) He said “this is your last home game.” We both hugged each other and cried. I never put on football pads or suited up for game days. I never tackled anyone or even scored a touchdown, but I felt like I was just as much a part of this football program as the players. So thank you to the game of football for everything that you taught me. To my high school football team thank you for allowing my family to be involved so deeply in your program. And to my dad, thank you for the tears, the memories, the life lessons and most importantly all of the years. I loved growing up the daughter of a high school football coach and I wouldn’t have it any other way.