As I sit here in the library at 1:20 a.m., I question why I'm even still up. Why am I searching up law schools past midnight? Why am I already starting the next chapter for class? What could I possibly be doing now that I can't do tomorrow or the next day? There are a lot of things that I credit my growing, but already strong work ethic to, but my dad is definitely one of the top three reasons.

My favorite memory that sparked this inseparable bond took place in Kindergarten. I got my very first speaking role in the Thanksgiving play as the narrator. There were a lot of lines, and as a child overcoming speech delay, I was nervous about performing in front of such a large crowd. If there is anything I remember about that show, it's this:

I was in my living room with my dad, holding an intimidating script full of lines that I would have to recite; it was big enough to constantly flop out of my small hands when I would try to turn the page. He was kneeling down to my level, and we went through the whole thing, line by line. The very last line was some triumphant statement about the family living happily ever after, and I remember how my dad told me to emphasize that since it's the last thing the audience would hear. He said the line about three times, and I kept mimicking him, trying to make it sound as professional as a kindergarten student could. A few weeks later, it was the day of the show. My best friend who was dressed as a pumpkin pushed me onto the stage. Breathe. It's okay. Oh, look! There's dad! I went up to the microphone and we started the show. The performance went smoothly, even though I don't remember most of it. However, I remember saying that last line with all the excitement I could muster up inside of me and I looked straight at my dad, sitting proudly in the crowd. This wasn't the first time I would see a proud dad with the recording iPhone in hand in the crowd. He was present for the big shows, award ceremonies, graduations, basketball games, piano lessons, and anything he could attend. I am blessed.

Ever since I was a kid, my dad has always been a big supporter. He always gives 110% effort when giving me advice about anything, helping me overcome a stressful situation, or motivating me to achieve my wildest dreams. When I feel like giving up, it takes one phone call with him to make me feel like I can move mountains, and it makes me want to work even harder than the day before. There are several people in my life that I admire, but my dad is one of those people that I want to be like when I grow up (when does adulthood actually start, anyway?). My dad didn't have a perfect childhood like the one he could provide for me, and he had to work twice as hard as my busiest days at college to get to where he is now. When I wake up and feel "too tired" to go to class or think that homework can wait just because it's not due the next day, I think of his work ethic and how me feeling a little lazy doesn't justify me missing out on my education. I get up. I do my homework. I go to class. I work hard. I make him proud; I make myself proud.

Dad, thank you. Thank you for always dealing with the wild rants that no other living human could endure, for accepting me when I discovered eyeliner and got all the terrible haircuts, for allowing me to go out into the world and learn from my mistakes, for being the first guy to sweep me off my feet, for being there when I lost the 4th grade spelling bee and letting me cry in your arms, for teaching me how to color inside the lines, and for being my best friend. There aren't enough words in any language to express my gratitude and no amount of money to pay you back for your priceless and unconditional love and support. I love you, even when I'm being too sassy. I'll always be daddy's little girl even though I will be 5'8" one day with the power of my dreams.