My dad was the Atticus Finch type. He was a lawyer, humble, and a dead shot with a rifle. In truth, the rifle lay unused in the attic my entire childhood, but I liked to think that he would have used it if he had to. Like Atticus, his wife (my mother) died when his children were barely able to walk. After she died, there were a lot of hard years where he worked nights at the Greyhound bus station while putting himself through law school during the day. Family and friends stepped in to help. After passing the bar exam, he fought for justice in unconventional ways, but he never brought his work home with him. He was always available, friendly and wise. Most of all, he made it so that I never doubted - not even once - that he loved me. That’s a #greatdad.