Shortly after Kobe Bryant’s tragic passing, ESPN anchor Elle Duncan gave an emotional on-air recount of a personal interaction with Bryant that has since touched millions. While many others also shared heart-warming anecdotes, stories and moving tributes about the basketball icon, Duncan’s message spread particularly wide. Bryant’s athletic achievements are impressive, but the most important aspect of his legacy is arguably his relationship with his daughters, specifically Gianna (or Gigi), who lost her life in the same accident. Duncan captures this sentiment — the love and support of a father for his daughter — at the end of the segment. Choking up and fighting back tears, she stares into the camera and says, “I suppose that the only small source of comfort for me is knowing that he died doing what he loved the most: being a dad, being a girl dad.”

A girl dad. Literally, it means the father of a female child, but figuratively, it means so much more.

This past month, hearing and reading so many different people’s accounts of their personal “girl dad” relationships led me to reflect on my own. As hard as it is for me to admit, I honestly took my dad and all the effort he poured into my development as an athlete for granted when I was younger, and it took time, space and a whole lot of growing up to realize that.

My dad is from Lynn, a poor inner-city neighborhood in Massachusetts where many were lucky to get out alive, let alone play a sport in college. His parents were hardly around, especially his own father, and because his family never really had anything, he spent most of his life dedicated to making sure that one day his children would never go through what he did. My dad was a two-sport college athlete and was determined that at least one of his kids would follow in his footsteps, regardless of his or her gender.

The most important thing he ever taught me was that nothing in life will ever be handed to you. You have to work hard consistently and tirelessly if you want a chance at being successful. He pushed me to do what no one else was doing, and although I used to resent him for it, today I am truly grateful.

Despite juggling multiple jobs, enduring incessant pain from countless surgeries, battling a severe eye disease (he’s legally blind now) and dealing with everything else parents go through and try to hide from their kids, my dad still found time every single day to practice with me. He’d wake up early to drive me to workouts, stay up late to show me technique videos and even spend the weekends coaching my travel teams. It didn’t matter if it was rebounding free throws, feeding a hitting machine for hours or pushing me to do an extra set of sprints, my dad was always there. Not everyone is fortunate enough to say that.

To have a dad who wholeheartedly supports me as a female athlete has changed my life in ways I can’t even begin to articulate. He’s done so much more than help me participate in sports. He follows professional women’s sports with genuine interest and advocates for equality at all levels, showing me that if a Catholic, middle-aged northeastern white male gets it, then realistically anyone can. My dad encourages me to pursue a career in sports journalism regardless of the risk in that industry and always brags about my accomplishments in the field so far. Most importantly, he believes in me. He has more confidence in my softball than I do, and he speaks my dreams into existence louder than I do.

What I used to think was overbearing, pushy or at times downright cruel, I now see as fundamentally loving and selfless. I would not be where I am today without him. Now a “girl dad” doesn’t have to be blood related, they don’t even have to be male, but whoever that person is in your life, make sure you send them a little extra love. If we’ve learned anything in these recent weeks, it’s that people can be taken from you in an instant, and you never know when you’ll speak to them for the last time. So dad, if you’re reading this, I love you and thank you for everything.