The Coach's Daughter

"When you get to the end of your rope, tie a knot and hang on." Franklin D. Roosevelt initially said these words, but to me, these are some of the words of wisdom that my father often says to me when I call him with a dilemma.

We logged many hours talking when I was growing up, especially in high school when I opted not to take the bus and instead woke up early to drive to school with Dad. He was the physical education teacher and head football coach, and our conversations made the early rise worth it. It was one of the few places where my voice, thoughts, and questions mattered and were valued.

I often felt like we were Pinky and the Brain. Me (Pinky) asked, "What are we going to do today, Brain?" He would respond, "Same thing we do every day, Pinky; try to take over the world!"

That's how impactful our conversations felt to me. We would talk about the world's problems. We would talk philosophy. We would talk spirituality. We would talk about school politics, how I could be the best version of myself, my goals, and how I could achieve them. My dad cared about what I thought and had to say, and he had someone who cared about what he thought and had to say. It was a satisfying time in my life where I felt supported and encouraged and like it was possible to do anything.

The truth is I've been spoiled in having a dad who wants to listen and hear my struggles and offer his sage spiritual advice. Is he perfect? No. No one is "perfect," whatever that definition may be - but he is perfectly consistent.

He's the one I call when I'm struggling.

He's the one I call when there's good news.

He's the one I call when I get lost 3000 miles away and need help navigating home.

He's the one who made the football team run because I didn't have a date.

With my dad being the head football coach, this didn't set me up to be in an ideal position for when I wanted to start dating. The feedback I got from guys is they would never date me because they respected my father too much. I would quickly respond, "But you would be making out with me, not my dad!" I didn't fully understand it, but my two older sisters and the other coach's daughters experienced similar things.

I'm optimistic, so I focused on finding the silver linings. Like, how my dad wrote me a pass to skip study hall first period so I could get my driver's license. Or when I wanted to place a poster in the guy's locker room when I was President of Student Council promoting what ended up being the most successful dance they had had in years, saying, "Wanna get Lei'd?" Because it was a Hawaiian-themed dance. Or when I would videotape the football practices, and when I wasn't recording, I would zoom in on the player's cute butts to entertain myself. Shhhh, don't tell anyone that, though. That will be our little secret.

Another favorite was being in the weight room with all the football guys in the 7th-hour gym class. I would get to be motivated by all of their strength and speed, which would only push me further to gain the toned muscles that led me to feel so confident in myself.

One night, in particular, I remember him asking me a question during his Sunday evening rituals where he would be sitting at the dining room table after a Friday night game with all of the plays spread out on notecards and papers across the table. He was making notes when I sat down but stopped and looked at me.

"Laura, I've got a problem."

"What's that, Dad?"

"Well, every Monday after a Friday night game in practice, I list all that the team does well and what they don't, and then I make them run down the field and back. And after reviewing the game on Friday, I can't find anything they did wrong, so I don't know what to make them run for."

I sat there looking at him, contemplating his dilemma, and then jokingly said, "Well, I didn't have to work on Saturday night and didn't have a date. You can make them run for that."

He looked at me with a serious face. I was kidding, knowing that he keeps personal life and coaching separate, so imagine my surprise when he says, "Would you really be okay if I make them run for that?"

Nervous but excited about a fun way to get the football player's attention to see if anyone would do anything about it, I said yes.

Tuesday morning rolls around, and as I'm walking the hall to my first class, several of the players come up to me.

"Laura, we had to run because you didn't have a date. What the heck?"

"Oh no! Well, what are you going to do about it?"

They all replied, "Nothing."

"Then keep running, boys."

And we all laughed and went off to class.

Nothing changed in my dating life after that, but it's a memory that I hold dear to me; shocked that my father would even follow through on making them run for that.

Once I moved from Missouri to Los Angeles after college, we would continue these conversations as I drove to work, calling him, sharing my challenges, and listening to his input - just like old times.

He not only was the person I would call for advice but to help me find my way back to familiar streets when I got lost. These were pre-iPhone days when The Thomas Guide was at your disposal or printed directions from Mapquest if you thought ahead enough to pre-plan.

There I was freshly in Los Angeles from a small town in Missouri, out of my comfort zone, navigating the tricky streets and traffic of LA where going slow to figure out where you are will result in a honk and middle finger, and if you were lucky a good screaming at too.

But I was fortunate enough to have my personal live navigator before it became mainstream. It went a little something like this. I would pick up my phone and call my dad, who was back in Missouri.

"Dad, I'm lost again."

"Hold on, let me grab the map. What part of the city are you in?"

"Los Feliz. I'm trying to get back to Burbank but must have taken a wrong turn."

"What are your cross streets?"

He would always find me on the map and proceed to tell me each turn to take and how much further to go to get me back to familiar territory. He was always my hero in these moments and kept me from having a full-on panic attack on the road. To this day, we still talk about the joy those times brought us.

When you share similar values with someone, it creates a special bond, and the value my father and I share is the power of the voice. We both enjoy listening to others' perspectives and appreciate being heard. I believe this is why I'm such a good listener because I have the experience of appreciating being listened to.

I've always had a lot of respect for my father. The foundation I feel he and my mother both instilled in me will be one I will continue to build and grow upon. His faith in a higher knowing that he is here to be of service and that nothing is more important to him than talking to his five children inspires me.

He is the strong and silent type in group settings but shines when you get one-on-one time with him. He'll throw in a joke or two, which always catches you by surprise but is always worth it. And recreating those Sunday mornings when he would make pancakes from scratch while listening to Kenny Rogers on Vinyl are the memories I want to recreate with my own children one day.

I'm incredibly grateful to have learned one of the most important lessons about people that was eloquently described in the words of Theodore Roosevelt, "People don't care how much you know until they know how much you care." If you are ever fortunate enough to have a conversation with my dad, you walk away knowing how much you are cared for, and in a world where there is so much division, what could be more powerful than feeling cared that your voice matters?