Ariel Oliver

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Carley

A few months ago, I featured a post titled "Ten Things I Learned From My Mom."  I've spent the last few weeks reflecting, and decided that I also wanted to feature a similar post dedicated to my father.  I'm fortunate enough to have two loving parents that I am very close with, and I hope some day that I can take everything I've learned from them, and apply it to my own parenting techniques.

In first grade, I came off the school bus hysterically crying. My dad met me at the top of our driveway, tried to console the sobbing little human peeking timidly up at him from underneath her bangs, while clutching her ninja turtle lunch box. After he asked me what was wrong, I explained that another boy on the bus had been saying mean things to me. My dad told me to nicely ask the boy to leave me alone, and to tell the bus driver if he didn't listen

The next day, Dad met me at the top of the driveway. Again, a sobbing little human stormed across the street and flew into his arms. When my dad asked me what happened this time, I told him that the boy on the bus had put his hands around my neck and squeezed really hard. Infuriated, Dad told me the next time the little boy touched me in a way that made me uncomfortable, I had his permission to drive my foot between his legs as hard as I could.

A few days later, my dad was sitting at his desk at work when the phone rang. It was the principal of my elementary school, calling to tell him that I had kicked a little boy between the legs on the playground. After confirming that it was, in fact, the boy from the bus, he told the principal that he had given me permission to do so, after the little boy had tried choking me.

My dad's reasoning? In a world where strangers are constantly hurting and even abducting little girls, why should I teach my daughter to politely ask a boy trying to blatantly choke her, to leave her alone?

Needless to say, the principal and the little boy both understood the message loud and clear.

My dad hung up the phone and whispered, "That's my girl."

I graduated college when I was 22, and after four years of college I racked up enough student loans to keep me in debt until I'm 70. After returning to Australia to complete my student teaching, I came back to America, and did what most college graduates are forced to do upon entering "the real world"...I moved back home.

In what "real world" are we living in, where nobody is hiring, college grads are sitting on top $80,000 dollars in student loans, and people expect us to snap our fingers, and magically come up with these figures? Keep in mind that I wasn't sitting around eating Cheetos, and watching reruns of Americas Next Top Model. I worked three jobs, paid my own bills, and on top of that, made student loan payments every month. I was fortunate to have a very understanding father, who was comfortable letting me live at home until I built up enough of a financial pin cushion, where I could afford my bills, my loans, AND rent. Rather than giving me the boot when it was convenient, he gave me time, encouragement, and understanding. Now I'm living the good life in an apartment, close to the center of town, and I consider myself to be very financially stable and independent for a 24 year old

Dating.

*Sigh*

Every father's nightmare. I always joke that I am going to have a son, so I can teach him how to treat women. He'll go out there and show all of his friends how to properly treat women, thus starting the domino effect of great future boyfriends and husbands. You're welcome, world.

Huddle in close, I have a secret to share with you. I've had my fair share of relationship horror stories. I know this seems far fetched because after a lot of wrong turns and poor dating choices, I finally stumbled across my equal. The truth is, I dated some doozies. I might be getting some phone calls after this, because I'm still good friends with MOST of my exes.

My dad referred to one of my relationships as "the thing that wouldn't die," because it just kept going, and going, and going. Every time my family thought it was over,  I decided it was a good idea to forgive and forget.

Most of my male friends growing up were afraid of my dad, and I didn't blame them. My dad must have a jerk radar, and he definitely emits a "mess with my daughter, I DARE YOU" vibe. I wouldn't want to date me if I were a guy, and I'm glad I never had to go through the process of shaking my dad's hand the first time.

Blake and I spent our first three months dating in different countries, so Dad definitely had his guard up. After watching his daughter SPRINT across the airport, with tears in her eyes, toward the foreign mystery boy in the black pea coat, I think he knew it was a done deal. Blake melted my father's heart with a combination of stellar decisions...Somewhere between giving my dad a tall Irish beer mug from Dublin for Christmas, and shooting hoop with him in the driveway, Dad gave me the nod of approval that every daughter hopes for when it comes to their boyfriends.

My senior year of high school, I was chosen as one of the volleyball captains. You would think the captain would have it all together, right? Wrong. During a particularly important game, every ball that came my way hit the ground. I couldn't blame it on anyone but myself. I just couldn't get it together. My coach made the decision during the first game to sit me on the bench, something he hadn't done all season. I wasn't upset with him. I completely understood, and it's what I would have done had I been in his position. However, I was devastated with my performance. A very large part of me wanted to run to the nearest locker room and hide inside one of the tallest lockers until the game was over, but instead, I watched the rest of the game from the bench.

The next day at school, I was called down to the main office midday. Sitting on the secretary's desk was a beautiful bouquet of flowers. Our secretary giddily told me that my father had dropped the flowers off for me. I opened the note, and only once sentence was written on the inside:

"Just keep digging."

I still have the note from that bouquet of flowers, and I look at it from time to time. It helps me remember that sometimes you're not going to be able to pass every ball that life throws on you, but you HAVE to keep digging

The next game was my best game of my entire high school career, and it just so happened that two college scouts were visiting to watch me play.

Basketball was one of the first things my father and I really bonded over. Well, aside from playing NSYNC on repeat in his car for three weeks straight, those were real bonding moments as well. Growing up, we spent countless hours shooting a basketball around in the driveway. It was OUR thing. You know that game horse? You have to make the shot that the person before you made, and if you miss, you get a letter. The first person to spell h-o-r-s-e, loses. Well, Dad and I changed it to L-O-S-E-R, that way the winner could victoriously call the other person a loser, while making the letter "L" with their pointer finger and thumb, and posting it on their forehead. Before there was horse, and loser, there were free throws. I remember Dad meticulously explaining the importance of making your free throws. We stayed out in the driveway for hours, practicing concentration, holding the ball, lining up, and following through. When I played for my first Seacoast travel team, my dad was my coach. Sometimes it was not easy, and it felt like he was harder on me than the rest of the team, but I know it was only because he wanted me to succeed. Sometimes, we'd arrive before the rest of the team, and I'd stand there practicing my free throws.

When you step up to the line to make a free throw that is YOUR moment. The gym hushes, everything stills, and it's just you, the ball, and the hoop. It's a lot like grasping once in a life time opportunities. It taught me to always focus on my dreams, to line myself up with what I want out of life.

It taught me to follow through.

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