The day I made my first ever basket on a 10-foot hoop was the first lesson I learned as a tomboy. Perseverance. It took me hours to finally muster up enough strength to get the ball to reach the hoop, and my dad was there to encourage me the whole time. While memories like this seem so small, when I reflect back on my life they are the memories that teach the biggest lessons.
"The point guard is the commander of the floor. Head up."
The first basketball tournament I had ever played in taught me what leadership meant. We were losing a game and my coach yelled at me from the bench to go left because the defense had caught onto my right handed game. I rolled my eyes, pouted in frustration and chose not to follow his direction, and that earned me a spot right next to my own father on the bench. He explained to me after the game how easy it is to have a good attitude when things go your way, but the true test of character lies in your reaction to failure. Leadership.
"Dribble with your eyes up."
From the time I was old enough to hold a basketball to the very last game of my career, I can remember hearing my dad yell, "Eyes up!" as I worked to break a press or call a play from the top of the key. He would always explain to me how important it was to see the big picture and to be aware of my surroundings. The older I get, the more I find myself looking to the future. It's important to plan your decisions around how you want your future to look. You might be dribbling a million responsibilities at once, but keep your end goal in mind. Focus.
"Work your butt off, and then when you reach the last 100 meters, spill your guts. You don't have to be the fastest to win, you have to work the hardest."
As my freshman year at Iowa State University came to an end, the dreaded dead week was upon me and finishing strong had never been more important. I had worked hard all semester, but making it through finals meant grinding harder than ever. I know I'm not the smartest journalism student in the program or the most talented, but my dad taught me that to succeed, I just needed to work the hardest. Effort.
"Tie your shoes tighter than you think they should be, trust me."
I can remember playing goalie in a little league soccer game and my shoe flying off every time I would punt the ball. I would retrieve my shoe, lace it up as fast as I could and run back in front of the goal, ready to defend. After this happened several times, my dad got up out of his lawn chair and started jogging onto the field while the ball was at the other end. I remember hissing something at him along the lines of, "Dad! You're embarrassing me! I'm fine!" The reality was, every time I laced up a shoe after that game, I tied my shoes as tight as I could. Preparation.
While I am now a collegiate woman who doesn't have time to play catch with my dad anymore or shoot hoops in our backyard or even have him doctor my injuries, I know the person I am today reflects the experiences my dad gave me as a little girl who loved sports. He taught me so much more than how to throw a spiral or swing a bat. All of these lessons combined don't equal the most important message I received from all of these memories: My dad is always my coach, my teammate and my biggest fan.
