I would have never played softball without my dad.
I picked up the game when I was four. I was the littlest, the weakest and the most afraid. It didn’t help when I ran into a shortstop much bigger to me, and fell to the ground while running bases. After that a coach - usually my dad - was forced to hold my hand while I ran around the bases, because I was not going to get hurt again.
When the season rolled around again, I refused. I was five and full of sass and very strong willed, and if there was one thing I knew, I wasn’t playing softball. Ever again.
And for that year, I didn’t. I enjoyed jazz dance and cheerleading and didn’t have to worry about running into kids bigger than me and getting hurt, and I loved it. But my dad loved softball and he loved to watch me play and I loved him, so I ended up back on the field, and it stuck.
I’m 21 now, and I’m still on the field somehow. And I owe it all to my dad.
At seven years old I decided, like every other little girl, that I wanted to pitch. I was horrible at the changeup, but I could throw a strike and my dad was sold after our first lesson. I was going to be great, he was going to make sure of it. And to his credit, he did everything in his power to make me great since that day.
The only way my dad missed a lesson was if he was deployed overseas. If I wanted to practice we did, if practice was early he took off work, and he would drive two hours to Atlanta for a 45 minute pitching lesson just to make me better. That was just him.
I would complain to my friends about how much my dad made me throw. There would be days when I would avoid getting home before dark just to make sure I didn’t have to practice, but when I got home the barn lights were turned on and he’d be sitting on his bucket and somehow we’d still get work in.
My dad loved the game but even more than the game he loved me, and he knew how good I could be. So he pushed and pushed. My mom has videos of us arguing in our carport, because my dad acted like he knew everything about pitching, and now I realize he knew a lot more then I thought he did.
This past summer I came home more excited about softball than usual. With a new coaching staff, I knew I had to make a great impression, and that was something I would have to work for, and my dad didn’t miss a beat. My dad hadn’t caught me in a while, but he was always ready.
The first pitch I threw hit him square in the chest. I thought we would be done after that, but he laughed it off (I know it hurt though) and we continued. He never failed me. We threw more than usual. He took off work, skipped doing chores around the house that my mom had asked him to do (sorry mom), and he threw with me as long as I asked, instilling the confidence in me that he had been for years, the confidence I needed so badly. I was ready.
I fell into the hands of the most gifted coaching staff I could’ve asked for. They worked with me and improved me day by day and I would call my dad excitedly and he was so thrilled things were going well. He couldn’t wait for season, and neither could I.
As a college student does, I got busy. I still called my dad, but began to rely on him calling me, but his phone calls were uncharacteristically low (my dad called all the time, for usually no good reason).
I found out eventually he had been feeling a little off and had been diagnosed with Vertigo but things were okay, and I shouldn’t worry. So I didn’t. I kept working, because I knew I could make him proud this season, it was the season we had both been waiting on.
He had been deployed my first season, and I had surgery the following season, but this season was it. I was healthy, he was in the States, and it was going to be great. He could finally see all his dedication and work pay off.
But things got difficult; he ceased to call completely and didn’t answer my calls when I called him. My mom said he was not feeling well, but they were figuring it out. Softball was still going to great, our fall games were coming up and I was more than ready to play with my team, so while I worried, I knew my dad was the toughest guy I knew, he’d be okay.
But sometimes, life doesn’t go as planned, and one evening I called my mom to tell her about my fall games and she let me know that my dad was having trouble communicating, and that was the reasoning for the low number of phone calls. He didn’t want to stress me out. I’m not sure where I pulled the bravery from, but I asked to speak to him. I told him about my games, and my mom was right, his speech was slow and he couldn’t get certain words out and for the first time in my life, I was worried about my dad.
The events that followed continued down the same path, and I was rushed home after our final fall game. My dad passed away on October 26th from a brain degenerative disease called Cruetzfeldt-Jakobs (CJD).
The first time I stepped out on the field for practice after his death was like a blur. It was uncharacteristically warm for November, and I went through the motions of my pitching lesson. It didn’t feel right to be there and not be able to call my dad after to tell him what I learned.
But I made it through. And then I made it through the next day, and the next, and right now, I’m making it through today. It’s a one step at a time kind of thing for me, but if there is anything I am sure about, I’m making him proud.
The field was mine and my dad’s place. Hard day at work or school? That’s where we found a place to put it behind us. We laughed, I cried, we got frustrated, we learned from each other all on the field. The ball field is where my dad and I became best friends. And it’s still the place I go if I want to hang out with him. It’s the place where I feel most connected to him, and I can still hear him nagging at me about my mechanics or telling me to smile and stop getting so frustrated.
This season will be a different one. It will be the first time I don’t call him before a game frazzled just to hear him say, “You’ve been doing this your whole life, so why are you worrying now?” It will be the first time I can’t Facetime him after a game and hear him talk about how he watched it and I need to use my legs more, but I still did a great job. I can’t look for him in the stands, or call him upset after I don’t do my best, but I do know one thing, he won’t miss a game. He’s even got the best seat in the house.
His death was the end of such a wonderful chapter for me, a chapter filled with love and support that I was so lucky to receive. But it was also the start of a new chapter, in which I have the biggest motivation and greatest guardian angel I could ask for.
And in this chapter, I will play for him and what other purpose do I need?
Brenna Nation: I Play For Him is a special presentation of umterps.com.
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