Being Thankful: Day Twenty

When I was about five, my dad took me to my very first Jazz game. He took me to a pre-season game, just in case I couldn't handle staying up so late—that way he wouldn't miss any important games. I still remember being so excited about going to a game. We went to McDonald's for dinner, and I got chicken nuggets. Dad let me know over and over that if I ever got tired, we could go home. I didn't have to stay up to watch the game.

That night, the Jazz played the 76ers. I wish my memory was good enough to remember what the final score was, but I do remember that the Jazz won, and I stayed wide awake and alert the whole time. Dad was shocked. He thought I would get tired and ornery, but I was riveted. I loved everything about being at the game—I loved watching the players, seeing all the fans, watching the streamers fall after the win, and, most of all, being there with my daddy.

I have always been a daddy's girl. That's probably a majority of the reason I love sports so much. I love talking to my dad and doing things with him. I love that during football season I get to spend at least one day with him every two weeks. I love that I know how much my dad loves me. He's always willing to help me with anything I need, which more often than not has to do with car issues. He is such an amazing example to me of service in the Church—he just started his second stint as bishop, after only three years of being released from the last stint. Yet he said yes, and will serve willingly and faithfully.

I love my dad. He is honestly the best man I know. I am so thankful that I was born into his family and that I will get to be with him eternally. He's the best. I'm sorry, but nobody else's dad is as cool as mine. There's just no contest.

Dad's goofy side

 Dad's grandpa side