My first best friend

My dad, or Pops as I like to call him, was my first best friend. In fact, until I met my wife I probably spent more time with Pops than anyone else in my life. Pops and I have seen just about every corner of Ohio and its neighboring states. Growing up, sports were one of the many things that bonded the two of us. I can't tell you how many countless hours he spent driving me to baseball fields all across the state, listening to the Moody Blues or Fleetwood Mac as I drifted in and out of naps. There are only so many corn fields you can look at before you start to get drowsy. Pops would also follow our high school football team on Friday and Saturday nights to whatever tiny city we happened to be playing in. No distance was too far and he always was there, not just for the start of the game but he'd often times beat the bus to the school and be around during our warms ups as well. Pops was my coach in the stands: always taping games to make sure I could correct the mistakes I made. But he was also my biggest fan. I've lost track of how many of his clients I've met that would say "Oh so YOU'RE the baseball player he still talks about!" It's a nice feeling. Pops and I would spend evenings going to the gym or batting cages and when it came to equipment like a new bat or glove he always made sure I had what I needed. It wasn't just sporting events that Pops was present for though. He never missed a theater performance, article I'd written or the chance to ask me how a presentation went at school. I guess I was a strange kid to never go through that "I hate my parents" phase, but when you're dad is your first best friend, why waste time being mad at him for petty reasons? Pops is also the main reason I'm comfortable in my own skin. He has the ability to talk to anyone about anything and he's why I'm able to do things like pretend to be a game show host in front of over 500 people at Digipalooza. He's also the motivation for my passion for brightly colored clothing, Cleveland sports, and mindless action movies with superheroes and impossible monsters. I have a million memories I could share about my dad, but interestingly the first one I remember is one that helped lead me to where I am today. The first real memory I have is Pops reading two books to my brother and me. The first one was the Sesame Street classic There's a Monster at the end of this book and the second one was one of the NFL Huddles series where each NFL football team is represented by a kid (or animal) wearing their uniforms. The memory I have isn't about the books though, because Pops didn't actually read the stories on the pages. Instead, I remember him making up entire tales on the fly, complete with characters that had different voices and even sound effects. Pops made the pictures come to life. Maybe he didn't realize it at the time but he was teaching us so many lessons when he did this: creativity, a love of reading and, perhaps most importantly, to never be afraid to act a little silly. Pops and I still talk multiple times a week about "My Cleveland Indians," as he calls them, and how maybe this is the year the Browns will finally turn it around. We talk for hours about individual hitters, plays and what we think they need to do. I cherish every one of these conversations and try to make them last as long as possible. It's the sort of thing you do when you're talking to your first best friend. Happy Father's Day, Pops. Adam Sockel is a Marketing Communications Specialist at OverDrive and, thanks to his Pops, he owns multiple neon pink shirts.

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