What Fall Means to Me

Most of you who know me well, know that I love football. And most of you know that the reason I love football is because it has been a huge part of my life. My mother tells the story that I went to my first football game at 4 months old. Unlike some girls, I can name all the positions on the field and can tell you what the penalty is going to be before the official announces it. Why do I know these things? Because I grew up as a coach’s daughter, a title I have always worn with pride.

Although it wasn’t always glamorous and pretty, I loved growing up the way I did. We didn’t always take a big summer family vacation, because my dad was always getting a football field ready for the fall. I can remember many trips to turn off or turn on the sprinklers on the field. I can remember helping him use diesel to mark the lines on the field in the heat of August or playing around on the field as he mowed the grass. I can remember the fall Friday nights. I can still feel the chill in the air and hear the band songs playing. Those things still signal to me that it is football season. Even though I remember all of these things, the thing I will always remember the most is my dad. He poured almost 30 years of his life into students: first as a football coach and then as a principal and athletic director. This past year, one of the players he had coached passed away. When my parents went to the visitation, the mother of the player told my dad how much he had always meant to her son. I have seen that in the eyes of these men over and over when they see my dad around town. Although I have never heard him say it quite this plainly, I know he never coached to see how many ball games he could win. He wanted to help young men. That is why I have always worn my title as a coach’s daughter with pride.