“Definitely,” I said. He leaned down and grabbed my hands as I bent my skinned knees and hoisted myself upright. My dad patted me on the back, and I immediately felt the pain fade away. Instead, it was replaced with a renewed desire to win. I ended up going back into the game, and it was among one of the best I’d ever played. I played defense, and ended up blocking all but one goal-- which was a better job than I had ever done. Even as an eleven-year old, I knew that I wasn’t especially athletic. Regardless, this game was one that I played with a passion that was nearly palpable. If I said that I was with born with an innate ability to persevere, I would not be telling the truth. Honestly, I think that if any person tried to claim that, it wouldn’t be truthful. An ability to overcome difficulties, in my opinion is something that is learned. And my teacher in this, among many other things, was my dad. Growing up and being raised by a single father hasn’t always been easy—especially not when I had to buy my first bra or when I freaked out because I thought I was dying when I got my first period—but I wouldn’t have had it any other