Seeing white-haired men in grey t-shirts on the gym machines in the row in front of me reminds me of all the sports that Dad and I shared

- him, a coach, missing a football game the Friday night I was born

- him coming to watch my t-ball games

- him teaching me to throw in the backyard standing by while someone else taught me to bat

- him stepping up to coach softball when other coaches weren't concerned with sportsmanship

- him helping the doctor to put my mouth back together after a softball accident

- him using my head as a crutch going up the stairs after a wrestling injury

- him, a coach, taking me with him to wrestling tournaments

- him calling me out for getting too worked up watching football or pro-wrestling

- him coming to my son's soccer game, even though it was soccer

Dad died a couple years ago today, and there are moments when missing really hurts.  But then I see the white-haired men wearing grey t-shirts in the gym and I feel better.