A long lost thank you...

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My picture of the day is of a basketball hoop because frankly I miss being a kid and playing hoops with my dad. We used to play pig (which was extended to horse...and even sometimes animals with a longer name just so I didn't get out so fast) all the time. When I was in high school, I remember wanting so badly to win. I remember many summers spent at camp- either basketball camp or soccer camp. We never won. We usually had a losing season. And I usually came home disappointed. But when I look back on it, some of my best memories were from my junior and senior basketball seasons...not because of the trophies I won, but because I got to spend them with my dad.

My dad was asked to coach girls varisty basketball my junior year. At first I was hesitant; I feared people would acuse him of playing favorites and cause all sorts of problems. Yeah, there were a few here and there but overall, my dad did a great job. A guy who played basketball recreationally was put in a position to coach a bunch of moody teenage girls and he succeeded. No we didn't win a ton of games, but we had fun. I had fun teaching my dad different drills to do in practice. And even though I would never say it then, I'm saying it now...I loved having my dad as my coach. I never had to worry about my parents being at my games..they always were no matter what, but there's something about your dad sitting on the bench next to you. 

On my walk today, I walked past the park nearby and took a picture of the hoop because all of the memories playing ball with my dad flashed before my eyes. I miss those days. My dad and I were selected to play/coach at the Ronald McDonald Exceptional Senior Game my senior year. I was selected to represented our county/league, and my dad was selected because that year they decided to send the coach of the player selected. As I think of it now, I'm proud of my dad for stepping up and taking the coaching position so he could continue to watch me play my game. He could have continued to watch me from the stands, but instead he coached me on the floor. And as I write this I can't even tell you how many times I got so frustrated with him because he used to call me "Ber" or "Berby" when I was playing and it was embarrassing. But ya know what, my dad is the only one that calls me those names and I'm okay with it. 

I had no intention of posting a 'serious' post tonight. In fact, I wasn't going to post anything other than a picture tonight. But something about seeing that basketball hoop inspired me to reflect on those days with my dad. 

Maybe we all should take a little more time to do things like that...