The Tie

In fourth grade, we made ties for Father’s Day. I don’t remember the instructions or even the teacher’s name. What I do remember is going to the fabric store to select the material for the tie. There were aisles of satin and cotton fabrics with colors ranging from black to navy blue, some with stripes and others with geometric designs.

I distinctly remember going up and down more aisles in search of just the right one. Then it caught my eye – a white cotton fabric covered with tiny red hearts. This was the one.

I worked on that tie in class and in the evenings at home. Following the patterns and stitching it by hand. When I was finally finished, I stared at it with such pride until Tommy in my class commented that it looked like a “little girl’s dress.” Isn’t if funny how some words stick and stay with us forever.  Damn Tommy. My excitement and joy over the tie were now replaced with doubt. Is the tie ugly? Is it for a girl? What would my dad think?

Father’s Day arrived and I nervously handed my dad the wrapped tie. Thinking about that moment still brings me to tears. My dad opened it up and his smile, his face his words of praise over the best gift he could have ever received. He went on about the sewing job the awesome colors and how he couldn’t wait to wear it to work. That moment was bigger than the tie and how he made me feel in the moment has never left me.

Years later, on my high school graduation day, my dad came out of his room wearing his crisp blue suit and that same tie. I remember I just stood there a bit in surprise that he still had the tie and admittedly somewhat embarrassed that he would wear it. I mean at 18 years old the tie looked different to me than it did when I was in 4th grade. But my dad was unwavering in insistence on wearing it.

My father died last year and as I was helping to clean out his dresser, I opened the top drawer and there folded neatly in the back was the tie. Apparently, it had been transported through the four moves that my parents made since I gave him the tie.

The tie now sits folded in my drawer.

Who He Was

My dad was a very handsome, charismatic man who was an amazing dancer, the guy who could fix or build anything, the problem solver, a proud veteran and an original feminist.

My father wasn’t loud about his beliefs, but his values ran to the core of him. He was a veteran who passionately believed in democracy and the Constitution, and he encouraged us to understand history and be active in our democracy.

My dad was an OG feminist. He raised three daughters like our voices mattered—because to him, they did. He expected us to think, speak, lead, cry, and then try again. And he modeled what it means to respect women, not just with words but through his actions.

I’ve been thinking a lot about my dad these past several months. I’ve been trying to imagine what he would say to me to comfort me through the many losses—losing him, losing my sister, supporting my mom in her grief and her recent cancer diagnosis, and navigating my husband’s cancer.

What would he say? How would he comfort me?

What I have come to is this—he left me with the gift of his legacy. His words and actions live in my head.

He was an authentic Real girl dad who spent a lifetime fighting for our future.

My dad had the emotional courage to cry, apologize, and the willingness to learn to do it better.

His masculine strength was his ability to advocate for injustice, not in quiet conversations in his home but out in the world, where it was visible.

He didn’t need to bully or humiliate others because he was confident in himself, and his deep faith led him to see others as human beings.

We never had to earn his love it was given freely.

His Legacy

I think that’s the legacy of a real dad.

When I opened that dresser drawer last year and saw the tie—still folded, still waiting—I felt the same thing I felt back in fourth grade when he opened it the first time: loved, valued, and important.

That’s what he gave me. Not just praise in the moment, but the kind of steady love that outlasts doubts, bad days, and even grief.

I really understand now. My dad wore that tie not because it was stylish (although it was 😁 ) but because it told a story—about who we were to each other, and who he was as a father.

Real men don’t just teach us how to show up in the world. They show up for us, over and over, in ways that never need to be explained.

And when they’re gone, they leave behind more than memories—they leave behind proof that we mattered.

On this Father’s Day, I’m honoring the men who get it.

The veterans who sacrificed because of their love for this country and in service to others.

The woke dads who continue to learn, engage in self-awareness, and stand up to injustice as role models.  This was the core of my father.

The feminist dads who are raising daughters who know their worth and sons who respect it. They model equality not just in words, but in daily actions—sharing power, honoring emotions, and challenging the systems that silence or diminish others.

They don’t just believe in strong women—they raise them.

Wishing a very Happy Father’s Day to the men in our lives who make us better! xo