I remember it like it was yesterday: my dad in the standscheering louder than everyone else, and me on the field, playing my heart outjust for him. I used to try so hard to make him proud. You see, my dad taught meeverything I know about softball. It was something special we shared.

Iwould stand at the plate, bat in my hand and my heart pounding, wanting so badlyto hit a home run for him. The happiest times in my life were out there on thefield under those bright lights.

I remember, also, when my father gotsick. He could rarely make it to a game, but I still only played for him. Oneday, he felt strong enough to watch me. I did not know it, but that would be thelast time.

I think back to that day and wonder if I would have playeda little better or tried harder if I had known. My father once told me that thebest times in his life were watching me out on the field. He did not care if Ihit a home run or made every out, he was happy being able to watch his daughterplay.

My father died seven years ago. It was the hardest thing I've everovercome. At first, I never wanted to play again. I was mad that he could notcheer me on. I did not want to disappoint him, though, and something inside toldme he would have wanted me to continue. I cannot hear him cheering or see him inthe stands, but I know he is still watching me with a smile. I know I can counton him.

Getting back into the game helped me cope with my loss. So, Icontinue playing each game just for him. Whenever I'm on the field, I think of mydad and say, "Thank you." He is, and always will be, my biggest fan.