In a rerun episode of Leave it to Beaver, recently watched during my odd sleeping hours I’ve experienced lately (it airs at 3 a.m., YES, A.M.!) Monday through Friday, the episode centered around a short essay Beaver had to write about someone thought to be a most interesting character.

Beaver decided to write about his father. Thinking he would find out his father did the most interesting things a man could do, or thinking he’d discover his father would be a military hero, young Theodore was a little miffed that none of those things were included in his father’s resume of life.

As time went on, though, and Beaver kept at it, he discovered maybe his dad wouldn’t appear to be most interesting to his classmates or teacher, but Beaver thought he was pretty special because his father would listen when Beaver had something to ask or say, and he’d help him build neat “junk” on Saturdays, and though maybe his father wasn’t that special to other kids in his class, he was pretty special to him.

Tomorrow, this third Sunday of June, celebrated this specific Sunday every year, is Father’s Day.

Looking back at my life, my father was much like Ward Cleaver. He served in the military, but wasn’t a war hero. He could fix things around the house, but nothing that earned a spot on the 6:00 news. But to us, he was Dad. He was our Dad. He probably didn’t appear to be much out of the ordinary to others in my circle of friends or classmates, but he was my Dad. He played catch with me, not all the time, but it made the times we did play, that much more special.

He’d show us how to build some things, and let us use his tools to do it. He’d spend time here and there demonstrating the “how to” with building, as Beaver would call it, “junk.” He’d show us how to trim hedges, weed the garden, things that weren’t the most fun things to do, but were special nonetheless, because we did them with him. He’d plan an outing to Cleveland once a year for some years, with him, my older brother, me, our great uncle, and two cousins, and much of the time we did those things, there was conversation that turned out to be lessons for life, even if we didn’t know that at the time they were happening.

Dad was a disciplinarian. He expected a lot from us, and had consequences if those expectations weren’t met to his satisfaction. Dad, as Wally and “the Beav,” would so often say, “clobbered us” when we needed to be clobbered. Please don’t misunderstand, Dad didn’t hit us over the head with a two by four, he let the tone of his voice, and the look on his face let us know that some kind of consequence was in his plan for talking to us at that moment.

One of the things Dad was so good at, and I tried to do this with my kids and in my classrooms and on my teams, was after doing the “clobbering,” he would make sure we knew why we were being punished, or talked to at that time. We learned afterword that being scolded, yelled at, grounded, etc., was his way of giving us a hug and saying, “I care.”

Dad taught all of us right from wrong. He let us make our mistakes without getting physically hurt. He let us know that if we ever got hauled in by police for something we did, to make sure we used our one phone call to contact someone that would help us get out. Trust me, we got his message, and never got our self in the position to call his bluff. His other statement, used only once in jest, but it let us know he meant business, was, “I brought you into this world, I can take you out.” Again, we didn’t take that literally, but know what he meant, and why he was telling us that.

All these things demonstrated the effectiveness of Dad’s mentorship. He subtly got his message across, and also put a little fear in our minds, but we also learned well how outspoken he could be, in and on what he believed, and stood for, in his life. There were times Mom would say to me, “You are just like your father sometimes.” (Ditto Jon!) Little did she know that was the greatest compliment she could have given me.

So, on this Father’s Day, I know many of you might not think my dad was that special a person, and he may not have been a war hero, or built something spectacular, but know he was the greatest man I knew, because he was my father, my special mentor. Thanks, Pop!

Happy Father’s Day to Dad above, gone 28 years this past April, to Sally’s Dad, up there with him, to Jon, Jeff, Richard, Josh, my brothers, brothers-in-law, uncles, cousins, nephews, and friends, here with us, or kicking back in their heavenly home. You role was never thought a thankless one.