This morning one of my former players lost her dad. He'd been sick (cancer) on and off since I started to coach her as an 8th grader (she's a senior this year), yet he was still one of the most supportive parents I've ever dealt with as a coach. There were days when he went directly from the hospital to the sidelines to watch his daughter play. Win, lose, or draw, he congratulated his daughter, her teammates, and her coaches on their efforts. This was especially meaningful given that he understood the game and just how much it takes to excel at it.
Beyond this, he and his wife opened their home to the team for numerous team functions and provide the team with t-shirts, sweatshirts, and sweatpants at almost no cost on two different occasions. Were all parents this supportive with their time, money, and presence, high school sports would always be the positive experience it is supposed to be for everyone involved.
So, Bruce, what kind of daughter did you raise?
One whose grades improved every year she was in school even though she sometimes stayed at your beside until the small hours of the morning before coming to school.
One who never once asked for more time to get her work done because she didn't want her teachers to think she was using your illness as an excuse.
One who, despite severely breaking her leg early in her sophomore season, came to every practice and game, even if it meant sitting next to me on the bench in the driving rain.
One whose smile, humor, and energy fill every room she enters and every field upon which she sets her very talented feet.
One with a big enough heart to let her former coach know- within twelve hours- that you had passed away.
Rest easy, Bruce, you did a great job.
And Stevi, hang in there...
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