The other night was a bad night. Just the kind of night where I needed to bitch and vent and cry a little. Stomp around the house and slam some doors, then take a breathless walk around the block.

When I did, I called my dad.

“I see,” he said after every ugly word that escaped from my lips. “I hear you.” “I know.” “I hear what you’re saying.”

It was all that needed to be said. It was perfect.

I felt better.

Afterward I couldn’t stop thinking about my dear friend Catherine who’s just suddenly, unexpectedly lost her father and will never hear, “I see…I hear you…I hear you” anymore, in that perfect daddy way that will make it all go away. It breaks my heart.

We talk so much about our mothers, as mothers. It’s easy to do. But fathers are so very, very important. Mine certainly is.

What’s the greatest thing about your dad?