Homecoming Parade

For the third year in a row we've managed to be in Kansas during homecoming week at the school my parents teach at.  It's sad that I feel very little connection- they consolidated the school I went to with a rival school and then painted over or took down every banner and trophy we had ever won- effectively cutting any ties any of us have there before 2004.

Anyway...

The girls were pretty excited to get to see the parade, tiny as it always is.

Watching the last of the four floats pass by with my mom: 

Remember how Halle hated the sirens and loud noise?  She was still a little unsure this year:

 Cate with the first of the loot:

(A picture of last year's load is here.)

My dad and Ty, cheering on the Mustangs:

I have been proud that my dad was a coach from my earliest memories.  A successful coach.  A respected coach.  He loves football.  But what I love is that, if you watch him and listen closely, its obvious that his love for football is overshadowed by his love for people.  For his Lord.  He cares for his players even after they graduate.  He prays for them.  Oh, he's a coach-  you know what I mean.  I've heard him yell at refs and players, and I've heard him patiently explain and re-explain concepts and schemes.  I've witnessed him watching game film all night long.  He's tough on weenies.  He can't stand whiners.  He loves to win and hates to lose.  But when it comes down to it he longs for success for his guys in life.  Not just on the field.

He won't talk about it, but I promise it's true.  (I'm probably embarrassing him by typing this.  Sorry, Dad.) 

My dad retired from coaching the HS football team after last season.  At first, the idea was (selfishly) hard for me.  That part of my dad's identity has always been part of me: My dad is The Coach.  

He always said that he wanted to leave the incoming coach with a better team- and he did.  Young talent will turn a team around at a tiny school that struggles to fill a roster.  

I'm sure it's misunderstood.  And that this season's success and my dad's support of it are misinterpreted.  

But I get it.  And I am prouder than ever. 

I love you, Dad.