Taking After Your Dad's Footsteps

 You couldn't find the #12 jersey, so you scooped up the next best thing, #5. 

Soccer is in your bloodline, and you were born to crush this sport! Even with limited experience, you stepped on to the 8th grade team and massacred those poor girls on the field. Who does that?? 

You automatically start at midfield. Because you're a diesel engine, and you can run for days. You defend, steal the ball, dribble through crowds, and pass the ball with tremendous accuracy. You are one of the best players on the team, and through it all you remain humble. 

But you H A T E to lose! Obviously you haven't had a great history with team sports, especially soccer. But you bounce back anyway and keep growing and pushing yourself and your teammates. You're always training, running, and getting motivated to strengthen your game. 

And I know there is designated bleacher seat for all of the normal suburban boring forgettable vanilla lame dads in West Michigan. I know I'm supposed to wear a mask (covid) and clap politely. I know I'm supposed to stay in my lane and watch the scoreboard like all of the other dads. 

But I can't. 

I have to be on the sidelines, as close as legally possible, to your side of the field. I have to scream and shout and cheer and love you with all of my strength, because I'm wired like that. I am your biggest fan, and I will always be the guy that you hear from miles (or inches) away! 

Go Ambria! Great job!

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