It was jam-packed with people. The air was cold in the gym and the tension was practically tangible. Though the gym was filled, to me it seemed empty. It was just me, my father and the hoop. I received the ball at half court. Every fiber of my body was screaming, pleading with my mind to explode upward from where I stood. I took the first step. Everything became a blur, as I accelerated faster than I ever had previous to this moment. I drew closer, and time began to slow. Three yards, two yards, one step....
 ******
    "Push it, Sam! You need two more inches," my father said.
    "AHHH!" I would scream, as I finished my last rep of the workout before dropping the weight. I staggered and collapsed on the floor, every ounce of strength I had gone.
    "That's my boy," my father said. "You're working almost as hard as I did when I was your age." He paused, reminiscing over his own glory days. He stared off into the distance, with a sad smile on his face, dreaming of what might have been. "Well son, you make me proud. Take a quick shower, and when you're done, I'll have you're dinner ready."
                                                "Thanks dad," I replied.
     With great effort, I pushed myself up into a sitting position. I stayed there for a while, wondering if I really had made my father proud. I reflected on my training. Every workout, without fail, I felt like throwing in the towel. That last rep, always seemed to shake my resolve to finish strong. However, it was my father who was always there to keep me going; to keep me fighting to finish. The will to make my father proud was, at times, the only thing that kept me going. It seemed every day was like this. Every day was a dog fight.
    After showering, I walked downstairs to find a heaping pile of food.
    "Alright, Sam," my father said, "you had an intense workout and now you need an intense meal. Eat all of it, champions do not waste."
    He wasn't kidding about the intense meal. It got to the point to where eating was a chore. I would have to devour twice as many calories as the average person just to maintain my current weight. Amidst my labors on this mountainous pile of food, I would see my dad, eating what I would consider hardly anything. "Dad," I said, "here, take some of my food."
    "No, son, I'm fine. You need it. You're going to be goin' up against some big guys, and if you don't bulk up, you're going to get hurt."
    This was how it always was with my father. I came to the conclusion that I would no longer give 100 percent. I was going to give 110 percent. I was going to make my father proud.
                    ******
    Finally the day had come. I would test myself and my training to see the fruits of mine and my father's labor. I was going to do it. I was going to dunk.
                    ******
    It was jam-packed with people. The air was cold in the gym and the tension was practically tangible. Though the gym was filled, to me it seemed empty. It was just me, my father and the hoop. I received the ball at half court. Every fiber of my body was screaming, pleading with my mind to explode upward from where I stood. I took the first step. Everything became a blur, as I accelerated faster than I ever had previous to this moment. I drew closer, and time began to slow. Three yards, two yards, one step.... lift off. I soared, gliding up and up. For those few seconds, I could fly. The feeling of the rim hitting my wrist, while simultaneously throwing the ball down through the net with staggering force... defies words. There was nothing like that moment, the moment I first dunked.
    The instant I came down, I turned to see my father smiling from ear to ear. He was beaming with pride for his son. He walked up to me, and said, "My son... I'm proud of you." This time, there was no doubt in my mind he meant it.
    The feeling I got from dunking was short lived. I felt great after I had done it, but it was nothing compared to the emotion I received from knowing my father was proud of me. This, I believe, is the highest form of satisfaction that we can receive. And that is: to make our fathers proud.