I was reflecting today on the life of Coach Don Shows and reading the many stories of the lives that he touched throughout his life. I couldn't help but think about my dad and remember the many stories of the lives that he touched on and off the field. I had sent Coach Shows' son a message and in the message I stated that I don't think there is anything better than having a coach as a dad. A coach chooses to become involved with individuals on a personal basis. It's not just the athlete they care about but the person. They see what they are capable of achieving. They believe in the players. They push the players to excel in life. Coaching takes place on and off the field. My dad went above and beyond what is required of a coach. He took time to learn about the player, the player's family and because he took the time to engage with each and every player, lives were changed.
I remember one of my favorite coaches in high school, Coach Nelson. If you had him, you may think as I do or you may think completely opposite. I had a wreck during high school that prevented me from starting the track season of my sophomore year because I injured my knee. I remember my first track meet back. I was ready to go even though my legs felt like noodles. I loved to run. I loved the adrenaline rush I felt right before the gun was fired. It was in my blood and I was ready to hit the black track again. At only 5'2", I ran the hurdles. I was about a foot shorter than the other girls I competed against so I had to put forth a lot more effort. I prepared myself in the blocks, got set, and fire...I was doing great. I successfully made it over 10 hurdles but I was behind so I leaned forward, as I had been taught, so I could break the ribbon and place. My legs weren't strong enough to hold myself up in that position so I gracefully tripped over the finish line. I busted my stitches open but got right back up. I wasn't going to let a little gushing blood or open wound stop me from finishing my meet. The next race was the 4x100. I was the first leg so once again I got set in my blocks. I can not begin to explain the throbbing that I felt in my knee but I held it together. I wanted to run. I gave it my all and passed the baton to the second leg to finish my final race that day. I have no idea what place we got but I remember my Coach coming up to me and telling me how proud he was of me. He said I could have quit after I hurt my knee again but I got right back up and finished what I set out to do. (He may have used a little more adjectives) Coach Nelson was tough. He was mean. But, he was good. And hearing those words come from his mouth, was better than placing that day.
I wasn't able to watch my dad coach until my brother Beck's senior year in high school. I still didn't get to watch him much because I was cheering at West Monroe (for Coach Shows) while my dad coached Claiborne Christian School. It was where he belonged. He WAS a coach. He fit the mold of a coach and you could see it in his eyes that he was doing what he loved to do. He met so many young men that year that needed someone to believe in them. He changed lives that year. He made an impact on young men that they will never forget. As a daughter, hearing stories that mattered for eternity, bring a smile to my face. The stories I hear about my dad, the stories I hear about Coach Shows, make me question what I do every day. Am I making a difference in those that I come in contact with daily? The stories that these players share are stories that happened 10 or 20 years ago but they remember it like it was yesterday. They remember how they felt when words of affirmation were spoken over them. They are better today because of a coach that saw them as more than a player.
My dad raised me like he coached his players. Always speaking encouraging words over me. Always challenging me. Always believing in me. There is something special about a coach. I'm blessed to have been raised by one of the best coaches there ever was (in my eyes)...and that was my dad.
Thank you to all the coaches out there that go above and beyond their duties as a coach. It matters.
I remember one of my favorite coaches in high school, Coach Nelson. If you had him, you may think as I do or you may think completely opposite. I had a wreck during high school that prevented me from starting the track season of my sophomore year because I injured my knee. I remember my first track meet back. I was ready to go even though my legs felt like noodles. I loved to run. I loved the adrenaline rush I felt right before the gun was fired. It was in my blood and I was ready to hit the black track again. At only 5'2", I ran the hurdles. I was about a foot shorter than the other girls I competed against so I had to put forth a lot more effort. I prepared myself in the blocks, got set, and fire...I was doing great. I successfully made it over 10 hurdles but I was behind so I leaned forward, as I had been taught, so I could break the ribbon and place. My legs weren't strong enough to hold myself up in that position so I gracefully tripped over the finish line. I busted my stitches open but got right back up. I wasn't going to let a little gushing blood or open wound stop me from finishing my meet. The next race was the 4x100. I was the first leg so once again I got set in my blocks. I can not begin to explain the throbbing that I felt in my knee but I held it together. I wanted to run. I gave it my all and passed the baton to the second leg to finish my final race that day. I have no idea what place we got but I remember my Coach coming up to me and telling me how proud he was of me. He said I could have quit after I hurt my knee again but I got right back up and finished what I set out to do. (He may have used a little more adjectives) Coach Nelson was tough. He was mean. But, he was good. And hearing those words come from his mouth, was better than placing that day.
I wasn't able to watch my dad coach until my brother Beck's senior year in high school. I still didn't get to watch him much because I was cheering at West Monroe (for Coach Shows) while my dad coached Claiborne Christian School. It was where he belonged. He WAS a coach. He fit the mold of a coach and you could see it in his eyes that he was doing what he loved to do. He met so many young men that year that needed someone to believe in them. He changed lives that year. He made an impact on young men that they will never forget. As a daughter, hearing stories that mattered for eternity, bring a smile to my face. The stories I hear about my dad, the stories I hear about Coach Shows, make me question what I do every day. Am I making a difference in those that I come in contact with daily? The stories that these players share are stories that happened 10 or 20 years ago but they remember it like it was yesterday. They remember how they felt when words of affirmation were spoken over them. They are better today because of a coach that saw them as more than a player.
My dad raised me like he coached his players. Always speaking encouraging words over me. Always challenging me. Always believing in me. There is something special about a coach. I'm blessed to have been raised by one of the best coaches there ever was (in my eyes)...and that was my dad.
Thank you to all the coaches out there that go above and beyond their duties as a coach. It matters.
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