A few weeks ago I took my daughter to see her friend play soccer. Pulling up to the curb of a crowded street next to a field covered in miniature nets, chalk lines and lawn chairs filled with the butts of parents shouting “Good job!”, I saw this:
And smiled.
A simple, poignant message, delivered unintentionally by a father just coming to see his son or daughter play.
The message? It doesn’t matter if you’re driving the latest that German engineering has to offer or something Jerry Reed and Burt Reynolds would have used to haul a clandestine load of beer cross country. What matters is being there. Showing, not just telling your kids that they’re important, even if it means you have to be there wearing the day’s grungy overalls or driving a semi filled with who knows what.
That day, there was a child kicking around a ball that knew his dad was there for him.
What a softie.
I know, right?