Lessons from My Dad: A Home Run in Life

It’s the bottom of the ninth—two on, two out—and the best batter is stepping up to the plate. Vin Scully is calling the play-by-play in his beautiful, timeless voice. The fans are on their feet, chanting, holding their breath, hoping for a run. The batter is down to his last strike.

Then, suddenly, the crack of the bat. The ball sails out of the park. A walk-off home run. The game is over.

Baseball has always been at the heart of my passions. And there’s one very important person I have to thank for that—my dad.

Growing up, I was always a daddy’s girl. He was the one who played games with me, took me out to ball games, and helped me through my ever-daunting math homework. He’s been there for me through the good, the bad, and the ugly, always supporting me regardless of the mistakes or mishaps I’ve made.

He’s inspired me for as long as I can remember. He has a soft, quiet nature and exudes a sense of calm. Even during emotional strife or heavy stress, he keeps it together without blowing his lid. I’m in awe of that sometimes—especially because I take after my mom with my short temper. My dad, on the other hand, has patience. The kind of patience I truly yearn to have.

We always used to go to the movies together. He didn’t just take me to see kids’ movies, he introduced me to some of the best films from the ’90s and early 2000s. He was a movie junkie, and I became one too. I picked up on all of his interests—baseball, movies, music.

I’ve been attached to him ever since the day I was born, and he inspires me to be a better person. I truly want to be just like him. He’d tell you that’s a load of nonsense because he doesn’t think very highly of himself. But if he knew there was one person who admired him that much, I think he’d be surprised—and grateful—to know someone views him as a hero. Because that’s exactly what he is to me.

Every time I grab a handful of M&Ms or sit down with a cheeseburger, I’m reminded of my dad. He loves his sweets, and burgers are his go-to. They’re mine as well. I think part of why we get along so well is because he’s neurodivergent like me. He was never officially diagnosed, but he has ADHD. He’s also quiet, shy, reserved, and introverted—just like me. We bond over almost everything.

He’s been my rock, my confidant, and my inspiration. My life feels like a mirror image of his in so many ways—our interests, our personalities, our quiet nature. I looked up to him when I was little, and I still look up to him now. He’ll forever be my hero.

“To the world, you may be one person, but to one person, you may be the world.” – Dr. Seuss