When I was younger

I wanted to do a quick and fun doodle for my dad for christmas. It's his last year of eligibility to be voted into the Hall of Fame, and my 7 siblings have started quite the offensive to speak up and make a case for him, after 15 years of silence.

I'm a bit of a black sheep in the family, as my professional sports knowledge is nil, and my athletic prowess is nonexistent. Most people are surprised to hear that my artistic side was actually fostered and encouraged by my Dad, but that's just the way he's always been with me.

I'm not smart enough to argue his career, his numbers, or to compare him to other players (I only know a few others), and I can only remember bits and pieces of his career. But I remember perfectly sitting in our art room in Georgia, tracing the outlines of our feet onto planks of wood, whittling sticks and bars of soap on the back porch, admiring my dad's doodles that he would do of all our names, and carving our initials into trees as we tried to hunt bats with our BB guns.

I don't know if he'll get in the Hall, but... it really doesn't matter to me.