Hey, coach, you missed the call!

Growing up my dad got my sisters and I interested in softball. For over a decade that game was our family life. My dad was also our coach most of our life. So every summer my dad dealt with around 26 teenage girls. To this day I still think he must be one hell of a man to deal with that many hormonal young girls. I always felt he missed his calling. He spent four years in the Marines, twenty years driving a truck for Pepsi, then owned his own business with my cousin for ten years, and is now semi retired working for the guy that bought his company. He should have been a coach. It wouldn’t have mattered what kind of coach either. His main sports in school were track and football so softball wasn’t even really anything he had much experience with, but he knows how to motivate people. He knows how to talk to people, to get them to listen, to think things through a little better. He doesn’t always speak his mind or call you out, but I always know when he does it’s time to listen. I always feel that he’s life’s coach. Even still as a grown woman, almost fifteen years away the days of playing that game, he’s still the coach. Still the guy I turn to when I need my head pulled out of my ass, my confidence and self esteem picked back up, need motivation to just stand up and do it. He taught you how to not back down, fight for what you want, and how to quit the whining and just get that do it already attitude. He also taught you to know when you just need to cut your losses and back down, how to accept your loss or failure gracefully and move on from it. Mistakes and losses weren’t the end; they were just the lesson for better success the next time. He wasn’t just mine and my sisters’ coach. He was everyone’s coach. Between our friends and cousins who lost dads or whose dads just weren’t around, so many people throughout life have always looked to him for his encouraging words or guidance. He’s the navigator through life for so many more than just me. Sometimes I think you missed your calling, Dad, you’re one hell of a coach even fifteen years away from the game. Even though we've always butted heads and had our disagreements, he has and always will be a man I have a great admiration for. Sometimes our greatest callings in life aren’t the ones we get paid for.