I thought it was interesting thinking about Todd's coach film idea, and the thousands of other ideas that are about a sports coach. I've always been able to relate to these films because it feels like my life could easily fit into a more boring version of one of these movies. You see, my dad is a high school basketball coach of 23 years.

Every winter since I was in the womb, I spent my Friday and Saturday nights in a high school gym. I went through these stages growing up where I switched back and forth from wanting to be a cheerleader or a basketball player. So dependent upon my year in life, I would be seen at these games decked out in either a cheer outfit or an old practice jersey my dad scrounged up for me. I was my dad's biggest fan. Me and my sisters would annoyingly be the only one's cheering after the players were announced, when they announced the coach's name over the loudspeaker. The outfits always changed colors though.

We moved all over when I was growing up. All three of my dad's daughters (me and my sisters) were born in different counties in Indiana. Everyone in my extended family has lived in the same, small Ind. town all their lives. We were always the outcasts, driving 2-7 hours to visit on holidays. When we lived in Ohio, we didn't even get to come home for Thanksgiving because Dad had a tournament. My older sister went to five different schools from k-12, and I went to three, my little sister only two. I asked my mom how many houses her and my dad have lived in during their marriage, and she counted them for me. It was some ridiculous number like 12. Yes, and they owned four of them, my crazy noneconomic-minded parents.

Sometimes, at best, we moved when my dad found another opportunity to coach a bigger school. At worst, we were practically run out of town. Kids were so cruel to me in school, saying things like, "everyone in town hates your dad, they're going to fire him." Have you ever seen "Friday Night Lights"--I have lived that scene with the for sale signs in the yard many a time. Seriously, no joke--you don't really do that about basketball in Indiana.

Although its been really hard, coaching is what my dad does...its who he is, and it sort of feels like when that part of his life is over-- his last night on the bench, pacing the sideline, jumping up and down, stamping his feet and making noise with his hard soled shoes, throwing tantrums, cursing out loud, consoling a crying senior as they leave the floor for the last time, and doing all sorts of other crazy things I've witnessed in my 19 years--that I will be losing a part of my dad at the same time. It hasn't been always pleasant watching him, but I really wouldn't have chosen to grow up any other way.