If They Only Knew

I remember with so much fondness when my Dad could make it to my basketball games.

He'd watch from the bleachers, a star basketball player himself, cheering on his way-smaller-than-all-the-other-players little girl.

"Hustle, Sarah Grace", he'd yell through cupped hands - his favorite megaphone.

"Block out."
"Rebound."
"Pass the ball."
"Atta girl."

It meant the world to me to have him there. Active. Interested. Passionate.

I felt so loved. And, so proud that he was my Dad.

I now sit on the sidelines - just as my Dad did - cheering on my two little buddies in their first season of t-ball.

I yell. And, scream. And, clap. And, cheer. And, make a sure fool out of myself with all the ruckus I make.

But, those are my boys. And, I remember - oh, how I remember - how it felt to look up into the bleachers and see my Dad cheering for me.

What I didn't know - was that the love and pride I felt as a young child looking up at my Dad was merely a drop in the bucket compared to the love and pride he felt looking down at me.

A simple glance and smile from one of my boys during the game, and I know how important it is to them that I am there. Active. Interested. Passionate.

Oh, but if they only knew the depth of pride and joy I feel at being their Mom - cheering on my #2 and my #13.

And, how precious and important it is to me that I'm there, too.