When I think of my dad, my mind is flooded with a thousand amazing memories. However, one that stands out is from middle school when the coach of my girls basketball team decided to host a father-daughter basketball game. When I told my dad about it, he looked disappointed. He said he wouldn't be able to play because he would be traveling for work on the day the game had been scheduled. I was bummed, but I understood. When the day arrived, all of the dads met their daughters and the coach in the main lobby of our school. We then started the short walk to the off-campus gym where we practiced. When I walked into the gym - as one of three girls whose fathers weren't there that day - I turned the corner and there was my dad. He was wearing his gym clothes and favorite basketball shoes and dribbling a basketball. He looked at me, smiled and then asked if I was ready to play. I don't remember which team won that day, but I do remember my dad being the most popular guy there. He made sure everyone touched the ball and felt involved in the game. And he was easily the best player on the court (since the other dads were more golf/tennis types). It was awesome.