Dad and Softball

When I was 12 I really started to get into playing softball. That year I made the All-Star team and dad was my coach. What a lucky girl I was. My dad taught me how to throw and catch and hit and even let me use his glove. Which was by far the best glove in the house. He bought me my first pair of cleats. Who knew what a defining impact playing softball would have on my life. The summer before I left for Snow College my dad gave me some of the best advice of my life and it has stayed with me ever since.

He told me that when he went to college he wanted to play football for Dixie, but his parents wanted him to focus on his schooling and put his grades and education first. He said that he had always regretted not even trying out for the team. He said if playing softball in college was something I really wanted to do, then I should go for it; not just try-out and see if you make the team, but really go for it. But your whole self into it. Give everything you have every practice, every weight lifting/conditioning session, every game. Regret is the worst thing you can feel. Play and practice so that when you leave college you'll know that you put it all out there and there was not one thing you could have done better. Nobody should out work you in practice. You may not have as much talent as the next player, but nobody should practice, work or try harder than you. And if you can leave college and know that there was not one more thing you could have done to be the best player you can be -Then that is success!

Some of the best times of my life were at college. I grew as a person, and a player so much in two years. I learned many life lessons, met my life partner, and lived how I wanted.

I loved when he would ride his motorcycle down on a Saturday, watch my games and then we would strap my laundry basket and book bag on the back of his motorcycle and he would bring me home for the rest of the weekend. He was my biggest fan. And supported me through and through. I hope I made him proud during that time in my life.

What a fun and cherished time it was when we played co-ed slow pitch softball together years later. He was the pitcher and he always liked to put a spin on the ball. He would get so mad at himself if he walked someone or didn't get a hit. I don't have to wonder where my competitiveness came from.

A Series of Memoirs

So I've been thinking about my dad a lot (obviously), and I really feel like I need to write down memories I have of him. I think that as time goes on, as with most memories, the details will fade. Thank goodness we have the technologies today to keep pictures, voices, letters, etc. preserved, but unless we write our memories down they can become lost.

Please forgive me if my blog seems dark and depressing for a while.

As I try to think back to my earliest memories of him, the biggest thing that comes to mind is how big and strong he always seemed to me. Whether he was tossing me in the air, putting me up on his shoulders, or holding me down to give me my "birthday spankings", he always had the physical strength to do whatever he wanted. As a child, I knew in my heart that my dad could save me from anything. He was the biggest, strongest daddy out there and no harm could come to me when he was by my side.

"Birthday Spankings" consisted of him holding you down, and slowly giving you how ever many spanks for the number of years old you were that year. This tradition of birthday spankings happened every year until you got married. And they weren't nice little spanks, they were good whops. But he could definitely spank harder. And he would always end the torture "with a pinch to grow on". And depending on how old you were and how numb your bum cheeks were at that point, the pinch sometimes hurt worse than the spanks because he would get the littlest bit of skin and pinch HARD!!

I remember going to cut firewood with him, his brothers and dad. It was a long drive up a very rocky dirt road somewhere in the Uintahs. When we got there we (the kids, I must of been 6 or 7 at the time) were allowed to go explore the trees and such in the little clearing where we stopped. We played and played without supervision until we heard the chainsaws stop and our mom and dad hollering for us to come back. We were to help load the firewood by rolling the logs down a hill. I remember being scared that the logs would crash into my dad or uncles and they would get hurt, but no matter how hard we pushed them or how fast we got them rolling down the hill, they would stop just at the bottom and the men would just muscle them up into the bed of the truck. It took an entire day to fill 2 truck beds with sideboards. In my little girl eyes my dad could do anything that consisted of physical labor.

When I was about 7 maybe 8 we went to the softball field to watch his games. Afterward I ran up to give him a hug. I had my eye on him, but I had to weave through a couple of other ball players to get to him. I wrapped my arms around him and thought, "wow! your sweaty, and you feel skinny." I looked up and realized I was hugging Craig Hreinson (Mailee's dad). But I knew by the feel of my arms around him, that he was not my dad.

My older sister Jen, Me and Dad.

This big strong man I called dad loved family more than just about anything. As I looked through his things this past week I found some notes he had made in a yellow notebook. He had been reading or listening to "The Secret" I think by the looks of his notes. He had listed the top 10 most important things to him.

#1. My wife Kathie

#2. My children

#3. My parents

#4. My siblings

#5. My home

The Artist/Sculptor - WARNING! NOT FOR THE MALE READERS!

In case you didn't know, Maddie is 8 years old. For some reason, she has been enjoying laying on my bed, watching TV in the afternoons while I work. Yesterday I found this little beautiful piece of artwork in her bedroom on the floor. I said "Maddie, what are you doing with these? Where did you get these? These are mom's personal items." She looked at me with her big doe eyes and said "What's the big deal? I found them in your bathroom and wanted to make something." So I preceded to tell her that they are something private for teenagers and women and they go in your underwear. She had way too many questions and I was not about ready to take away her innocence. It was hard enough having "the talk" with my 11 year old son a few months ago. Not about to do that to Maddie. (I don't care what you say Keysha and Angie! J/K! Love you guys.)

**FYI - I'm thinking about cleaning out the bottom drawer of my nightstand and storing the items in Brandon's gun safe in the bedroom closet. Who knows what kind of sculpture she would make with that stuff! YIKES!!

Dances with Goats

By request of Shannon West, here is a picture of our goats. Their actually pretty good to stay in the yard and eat our weeds but one day they escaped and went on quite the adventure to the dog pound. Brandon had only the car and wanted to get them out before the place closed for the night and so he put them in the back seat of the Buick. What was that? Did you ask if they crapped all over the place? Yeah! They did. And somehow it was my fault and I had to clean it up. AWESOME!