Better Late Than Never
Better Late Than Never We all see those little girls who are connected to their father’s hip, and no one could ever compare to him in her eyes. That was never me. I was never a ‘daddy’s girl’. I wasn’t close with my mom either. They both always talked about their “independent little girl”. For a while I took pride in that, but as I started to grow up it became less special to be so independent. I would hear about girls’ excitement to go shopping with their moms or their anticipation for the Daddy Daughter Dance at school. The biggest thing I had to look forward to with my parents was traveling to play softball. Even there I would come to realize how the relationship I shared with my parents was more business-like than every other girl at the tournaments. You know those parents who scream at their kids after they’ve made an error in the game? Not my parents. We had our talk in the car like the one a boss has with an employee.
“You were opening up your stance.” “You fell asleep on that runner.” “Your throw was off on that pick off – should have had that one.” If there was one thing to comment on, then my parents would have a handful of comments. I would watch the girls leave with their dad’s arm slung around their shoulders wishing my parents would do that, but it never happened.
I would go through high school with my parents’ list of expectations that would be met – no exceptions. Throughout the first 2 years of high school, our conversations strictly pertained to my softball career; if I was on track to be recruited, what skills I had to work on, if my grades were up to par, and anything else it would take for to me to get a division I scholarship.
On September 1, 2010, I had just started my junior year and had received my first emails from colleges that were ready to meet and to make offers. This was the first of many big days in the recruitment process. I had a handful of division I schools interested. You’d think this would be a time to celebrate, but it
“You were opening up your stance.” “You fell asleep on that runner.” “Your throw was off on that pick off – should have had that one.” If there was one thing to comment on, then my parents would have a handful of comments. I would watch the girls leave with their dad’s arm slung around their shoulders wishing my parents would do that, but it never happened.
I would go through high school with my parents’ list of expectations that would be met – no exceptions. Throughout the first 2 years of high school, our conversations strictly pertained to my softball career; if I was on track to be recruited, what skills I had to work on, if my grades were up to par, and anything else it would take for to me to get a division I scholarship.
On September 1, 2010, I had just started my junior year and had received my first emails from colleges that were ready to meet and to make offers. This was the first of many big days in the recruitment process. I had a handful of division I schools interested. You’d think this would be a time to celebrate, but it