By ANDREW SIMONSON | Sports Editor
As a sports reporter, people often ask me where my love of sports comes from or where it all began.
I could point to any number of things. I could look back at the first time I went to NASCAR qualifying at just five years old and saw the cars go around the track, or when I walked in on a Panthers game and asked how football worked, or when I saw Tiger Woods win from the 18th green.
But instead, I look to the man who was the common thread of all of those moments and so many more: my dad.
I know I’m not alone in bonding over sports with my dad. Some might even call it a bit cliché for a father and son relationship to be built around sports.
My dad’s also far from the only sports fan in our family. My mom probably rivals him in her Iowa State fandom and both of my brothers and countless members of our extended family love sports just as much or more than he and I do.
While my dad has been many things to me, he’s been arguably the main source of my love of sports.
We went to many games during my childhood, starting with the Charlotte Bobcats and Davidson Wildcats before evolving to nearly every sport and team under the sun. My dad was the first one to take me to see every one of my favorite teams. Even now, many of our vacations are incomplete without a trip to at least one game.
But beyond the countless conversations bonding during games in-person or on TV, he also helped me play sports, which was a long journey that I believe shows his character better than anything.
As the oldest of three, my parents tried their hardest to seek out sports that me and my brothers would enjoy playing. My dad played soccer and tennis in high school, my mom was a cheerleader and both of them knew the values that being part of a team could bring.
While my brothers took quickly to basketball and soccer, let’s just say I had a harder time than them at finding my niche.
First, it was golf. My dad would take me to the range with him and sign me up in camps at the local country club, and I enjoyed going out with my junior-sized clubs and tiger club cover to play the game my dad loved as well.
That is, until my middle school team cut me during sixth-grade tryouts, and after that, I didn’t play a round of 18 until Alec signed me up for a charity tournament in spring 2024.
But through it all, my dad supported me.
A few years before I fell victim to one of the only cuts in SouthLake golf history, I tried to join my brothers in basketball. My dad coached both of my brothers in rec league and I wanted to be the third, channeling my favorite Charlotte Bobcat (and Alabama legend) Gerald Wallace with his No. 3 as I stepped onto the court.
My season stat-line? Zero points, one block and one rebound, both of which were in the last game of the year. So, I went one-and-done, opting for six seasons as a middle school and varsity basketball manager instead of humiliating myself at tryouts.
But through both my one-year playing career and lengthy managerial stint, my dad supported me.
As high school approached, I wanted to give sports another try. This time, I wanted to run cross-country with my friends.
Now, my dad certainly knew what a 5K was. He’d ran a few himself. But I’d guarantee you he didn’t know a ton about the sport and may not have expected a heavy running sport to stick with a kid who had never played one for very long.
That didn’t matter. My dad gave me a pair of running shoes, encouraged me through a rough first few meets and stuck with me all four years that I ran in high school.
I can only rarely recall him missing a meet, often coming straight from work on a Tuesday to stand along the rope and cheer me on.
Through it all, my dad supported me.
That support is the thing I cherish the most about my dad. It’s something that has even persisted past sports. I’m sure my parents didn’t go into the college process thinking I’d wind up at Samford or the job market thinking I’d stick around here at the Shelby County Reporter.
But there’s one thing I will say about them: from the second I said I wanted to do anything, they had my back and were willing to do anything to help me succeed.
I’ve seen a lot of father-son relationships since I started covering high school sports. The ones I cherish the most are the ones like mine: unwavering encouragement and support, not so my dad could vicariously live through me or turn me into the next college star, but just because I was doing something I loved.
No relationship is perfect, but I think the world would be a lot better if more people could take that to heart.
So to all the parents reading this, I hope you too can find ways to show unconditional love to your kids. Support your children in the things they do while still nurturing them into upstanding adults.
To the kids, cherish your moments with your family. I hope one day you too can look back on not just your sports career but your entire childhood and see all the many ways that your parents have loved and supported you, even if it may be hard to see now.
And to both of you, I hope you can find ways to express your love for each other this Father’s Day weekend.
