My dad the cheerleader

Whenever I think of my dad, the word cheerleader comes to mind. And not just because Dad was one of Beaver High's.

Whatever I've been involved in in life, Dad's been there to cheer me on. I remember him at my volleyball games, even though the games were in the afternoon--when he should have been working--and our team didn't do much to cheer about. Church softball--he was there. Musicals, too. Dad gave the loudest shout when I was named a Sterling Scholar. And when I tried out for Dairy Princess, Dad not only cheered, he came up with my jingle.

There have been other times, too, when the event wasn't as pleasant, that Dad was there to pull me through. Like the time he came to help us move from Texas to Connecticut. Dad drove Jeff's Prizm for twenty-something hours while I sat in the back seat with a new baby. Dad was there to hold my hand when I had lasik surgery, and drove me home after the deed was done.

It's nice to know that whatever I do, whatever happens to me in life, I have my own personal cheerleader. And I know the rest of my siblings could say the same.