She did not stand alone, but what stood behind her, the most potent moral force in her life, was the love of her father.

Harper Lee, Go Set a Watchman

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Today is the official day that we celebrate the father figures in our lives. There will be cookouts and brunches with cards and gifts for the man of the hour. Terrible jokes will be told from coast to coast and laughter will echo into cherished memories.

For me, it’s a day to remember the man who called me his “Sweatshirt”. Yup, you read that right. My Dad thought “Sweetheart” was too saccharine. I loved it. While he always referred to me as his little girl, we hung out together like I was one of the boys. I accompanied him to the salvage yard for parts to repair the car. I’m fairly certain I was the only third grader in town with her own spark plug gapper. When he said, “Let’s go!” I never asked him where. An adventure was imminent. I was all in.

Dad was a world class hugger. When I went away to college, Dad’s famous hugs were two hours away. I called him after a challenging day and told him I wished I could have a hug. His reply was pure gold: “Put your right hand on your left shoulder, then put your left hand on your right shoulder. Now squeeze!” I did. I felt better. We laughed. He told me that he didn’t have to be in the same room to give me a hug. Without a hint of modesty he said they wouldn’t be nearly as good as the real thing, but they’d get me through in a pinch. He was right on both counts.

My father left a legacy of love. His love for his country and the Marine Corps was apparent in the flags he flew. The love he and my mother shared was an excellent example to us kids of what was possible for us in our own marriages. The love he felt for his children was unquestionable and resulted in the bond we each developed with him as individuals. I won the paternity lottery and the dividends are still paying out.

If you’re like me today and the smoke from a distant barbecue makes you a bit misty-eyed, just remember all the laughter and love you’ve been bequeathed. Tell a Dad joke. Wear the loudest shorts you own. Click the barbecue tongs a dozen times before you pick anything up. Call someone your “Sweatshirt”. And if that doesn’t really cut the mustard, then just put your right hand on your left shoulder… well, you know the drill.

Happy Father’s Day!