Even If He Still Refuses to Let Me Win
My dad is one of my favorite people and one of my best friends. I am absolutely his mini me, although somehow I inherited his competitiveness and sarcasm but not quite as much of his niceness. Genetics are mysterious that way.
We share a love of volleyball, the same sense of humor, and an extensive, highly practical knowledge of movie quotes. I can throw out one random line with absolutely no context (usually a Ghostbusters quote), and he'll usually know exactly what movie I mean. I can do the same with him. It's basically our own language and arguably our most useful shared skill.
Long before fantasy sports became an industry, we invented our own version of fantasy basketball. We would pull out our NBA trading cards, each choose five players for the week, and track how many points they scored. Whoever's players scored the most won. There were no apps, no automatic scoring, and definitely no participation trophies. My dad was far too competitive to let me win, and honestly, so was I. That's how I always knew that when I beat him, I had truly earned it.
That tradition eventually evolved into fantasy football and March Madness, where we remain loving family members who would also gladly crush each other over a completely meaningless bracket.
We also spent a lot of time going to Charlotte Hornets games. My parents had season tickets in the nosebleed section, and they were great seats, assuming you didn't mind occasionally losing sight of the players in the clouds. They have, of course, happily upgraded those seats since their children moved out and stopped spending all their money.
One winter night, we left a Hornets game and discovered that the entire parking lot had frozen over. We tried and failed to stay on our feet as we slid our way back to the car, laughing the entire time. For some reason, it remains one of my favorite memories. Even now, whenever I leave a Hornets game, I tell him, "Remember that time we came out and the whole parking lot was ice?" He remembers. He has no choice, really, because I remind him every single time.
As I got older and became more independent, I began to see how hard that was for him. My dad liked being needed, and I think a small part of him would have preferred that I remain a child forever, just perhaps one who could drive herself places. When I left for college, I know it crushed him more than he probably let on. Even now, I know he misses me, and I wish I could visit him more often. No matter how old or independent I become, I hope he knows I will always need him, just in different ways.
He has always been the person I can call whenever I need to complain about work, life, or, back when I was coaching, players and their parents. He listens, makes me laugh, and usually understands exactly where I'm coming from, probably because I'm so much like him.
He has been the best dad a girl could ever ask for, as well as an amazing husband and grandfather. I know how incredibly lucky I am to have had so much time with him and to still have more time, more movie quotes, more competitions, more Hornets games, and more phone calls ahead of us.
I dread the day when I won't be able to pick up the phone and call him. But today, I'm simply grateful that I can.
My world is funnier, happier, and infinitely better because he is in it and I realize how lucky I am, even if he still refuses to let me win.
This essay was written by Leslie Kiser as a tribute to her father, Rick Kiser.