Think back to the days when you were first learning how to ride a bike-- training wheels on, dad right behind you giving you that extra push and when you fell off and scraped a knee, he was right there to pick you up. He made it all better. Think back to your first basketball game when you scored that sick 3-pointer.

I hear friends, coworkers and peers talking about memories just like these all the time and I always wonder how they felt in those moments because for almost my entire life.

Unlike them, my father has been in prison. When I was young it didn't phase me quite as much, but now that I'm an adult I look back on my childhood and think about all of the times that I didn't realize how much I missed my father.

You could hear him screaming from the crowd, "that's my kid" but better yet, think about the day you graduated high school and the man that always had a tough exterior finally shed a tear showing how proud he was of you.

I remember the day that he was arrested so vividly. My mother called me downstairs and sat me down on the couch and said that we needed to talk. She had a look on her face that made me think I had to have done something wrong because she does not look happy right now.

Little did I know that a few seconds later I was going to have my heart broken for the very first time in my life.

"Sweetheart, you're not going to see daddy for a long time, but it's going to be okay."

A "long time" turned into a life sentence, and I wish I had known how to cope with it then like I do now. But, the truth about growing up without my father there was that it was always hard.

Even when I thought I was okay, I wasn't. The 15-minute phone calls every day (or every other) were only long enough for minimal conversations like how school was that day.

Visiting was never easy, either. As a child, I couldn't comprehend why I had to go through metal detectors and talk to my father on a phone while I just stared at him, separated by a cold, uninviting wall of glass that was no more than an inch thick.

The worst was when I was young and my friends would ask me what my father did for work.

I would always lie and talk about his job pre-incarceration, acting as if he weren't in prison.

Eventually, we all got old enough that they knew what was really going on and I couldn't keep it a secret any longer. Explaining his sentencing never seemed to be easy for me.

High school, on top of already being one of the hardest times in a teenager's life, was even harder due to the judgments I received daily:

"Your father is a criminal."

"What a horrible person."

"He deserves to be there."

"Maybe you'll end up just like him."

Those words pained me. I only wished that they had met my father just once to see how completely the opposite he was of these harsh statements.

Some, if not most of you, may not understand this point of view.

Having my father in prison my whole life has always felt like a death to me— just a little worse.

Because I know that he's alive and I am still lucky enough to hear his voice every day, but I just can't physically have him here to share all of the precious moments that life has to offer. And that pain is something I wouldn't wish on even my worst enemy.

I think it all hit me the hardest on my first day of college, right after my mother had just finished moving me into my dorm and said her goodbyes. I sat down and thought about pretty much everything throughout my life so far.

I thought about cheerleading and how I always tried to describe a cool stunt to my father over the phone, which was seemingly difficult, and how I wished he could have just seen me do it instead. I thought about my 16th birthday, and basically, every other holiday that I wasn't able to spend with him.

I thought about my first relationship and break-up and wondered what he would have done to the first boy that hurt me.

And then, I started thinking about the future. I realized that one day I may get married, and he won't be there to walk me down the aisle. One day I may start a family and explain to my children where their grandfather is will be more difficult than I even know.

He will have to continue to live vicariously through photos, letters, and brief telephone conversations and we will never have the opportunity to truly share these special moments with one another. The many tears the I've shed before will be shed again and that pain that I've always felt will not go away anytime soon.

Nonetheless, while all of these somber thoughts will always be stuck in my head, I can't help but look at the brighter side of things. Growing up with my father in prison was obviously hard, but I know that I wouldn't be nearly as strong as I am today if life hadn't thrown this my way.

This experience has defined me and who I am as a young adult.

It has taught me to never take a single moment in life for granted and to always cherish every second spent with family.

I couldn't be more thankful because my father is truly my best friend and one of the wisest men I know. Our relationship may be difficult and overwhelming at times, but he is still the best father that any girl could ask for. I know in my heart that he is an amazing man.

I know that he will always be here for me, and I know that if circumstances were different I would have been able to share all of those memories with him, and it's okay that I can't.

More importantly, I know that if I am strong enough to overcome this, I can take on anything that life has in store for me.

I'm proud to call him my father, and I'm thankful for him every day.