My father belonged to a Jewish men's lodge--Brith Sholom, Delco (Delaware County, Pennsylvania). When I was growing up, the lodge hosted "Father & Son" nights at sports events, and my father always took me.

It wasn't that he wanted me to be a boy; he just wanted to spend time with me. And I wanted to spend time with him.

Today, that seems like very out-of-the-box thinking for the 1960s--a time when girls took home economics (I still have the apron that I made) while boys took wood shop. Although no one ever protested my presence at the Father & Son events--at least, not to my face--I was always afraid that someone would.

The night before the basketball game, or the ice hockey game, my father would sit with me at the kitchen table and draw the court or the rink, explain what each player was called and what they did, and the rules and technical details of the game. I don't think I retained that much of it, but my father never quizzed me on it.

Thanks, Dad, for sharing what you loved with the daughter you loved. I will always be grateful that you did. Thinking of you and missing you this Father's Day. Love, Carol