Yep, that's my dad

I want to share a story with you about a very important person.  He’s my friend, my mentor, my coach and he’s also my dad.

I consider myself a very lucky person to have had a great relationship throughout my 33 years with him and look forward to many years ahead.

Last weekend, I had signed up to walk a 5K in Valparaiso.  I had spent the night in LaPorte at my Mom and Dad’s house, something I often do in the summer months. My dad had said he would walk with me.

We had decided on the way to the walk that neither of us would hold the other person back, I had a goal of finishing in 43 minutes, my dad had a goal of 46. Having goals is only one of the lessons my dad has taught me.  We encouraged each other to do our best.

As the gun rang out and everyone moved slowly through the cattle prod to the starting line, we were off.  Weaving my way through several people, I concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other and doing it quickly.  I looked around for my dad, his 6-foot frame, grey hair covered by his baseball cap, broad shoulders filling out his grey sweatshirt and black sweatpants. He had found his groove, I was proud of my dad, he was on a mission.

For the next 42 minutes or 3.1 miles, I continued to trail my 60-year-old father.  Not that I ever thought of him as frail or weak, but he was kickin’ it! I knew what he was thinking, too.  I knew he was doing the same thing I was doing, picking out someone ahead of him and trying to catch that person, setting mini goals throughout his walk.

During the competition, I flashed down memory lane.  I remembered times when I was 6-years-old, playing Junior Miss Softball and I am sure my dad would be glad to tell you the story about how I became a pitcher because I cried when they put me in catcher’s gear behind the plate.  It’s a scary place. I was a bit too short for the catcher's gear which was about two sizes too big. The mask covered my eyes and all I could see at times was the bat swishing through the wind about two inches from my face.

He not only coached my softball teams throughout the years, but in middle school he also coached the St. John Eagles basketball team.  Let me just say that I remember riding the pine, or the bench, many times! I was a pretty good athlete, but when I got an attitude or got lazy and fouled the other players, he didn’t hesitate to give me a few minutes to think about how I could do better.

In high school, my dad hung up his whistle and retired as my coach… well formally.  I played basketball my freshman year and softball until I was a junior. There were many instances where I woke up and found a handwritten note with words of encouragement from my father.  I was appreciative of the notes at the time and knew that many of the other players were not nearly as lucky as I was to have such a considerate, compassionate support system. I saved many of those letters.

During college, I didn’t play sports, but I was lucky enough to have a handwritten letter in my mailbox at IU each Tuesday.  I can picture him in his living room chair, early in the morning with a cup of coffee, my mother still sleeping. It was his time with me. Topics encompassed anything from what was happening with his students (he was a sixth grade teacher) to encouraging me to do well in class.

I said that my dad hung up his whistle when I was in high school.  While he was no longer my coach on an athletic team, he has remained my coach in life. His love, leadership, friendship and coaching have impacted me more than he may ever know.

My dad and I talk a lot, but if you know Rich Hahn, you know that he doesn’t ever speak just to hear himself talk.  He’s also not someone to give advice he doesn’t believe is worth something.  Small talk isn’t his thing, I know I got that from him. After all, I share half his genes!

I enjoy spending time with both of my parents and living conditions have allowed me to spend weekends with them during the summer.  This gives me an opportunity to spend time with my aunt and uncle who live next door and my other aunt and uncle who live in town. Family is so important and I am very blessed.

We approached the end of the walk and I tried my best to ramp up my effort.  He was about 10-20 yards in front of me and I tried desperately to tie him. It didn’t work, he finished with a time of 42:03 and my time was 42:23. But we had a great time participating in a healthy activity and enjoying our time together, even if he forgot to let me win!

I got home to South Bend and all of the thoughts that I had during the race were validated when I looked up to the fridge.  On the 4x6 sheet of paper was his writing, smiley face on top, “Good things happen when you work hard!” Love Dad.  It’s a message that has been on the fridge for years. It always cheers me up. 

I know, without a doubt, that he loves me unconditionally and that he will always be my biggest supporter, my biggest fan and my best buddy. He’s a great coach, an excellent mentor and I am the luckiest person on earth to have him as my father.