This Father’s Day feels extra special to me, and no wonder—the book my dad and I posthumously collaborated on for so many years is finally out in the world. I feel his joy and can see his radiant smile!

Over the past few months, I had many radio interviews during which I was asked, “When did your father start acting like the happiest person you ever knew?” Inevitably, my mind would go back to the way my dad behaved when I was sixteen, during the summer weekends my family spent at the small country home my parents had recently purchased in a modest neighborhood in Southampton, two hours from our apartment in Manhattan. It was a sweet little A-frame house located on the edge of a pond, and we had our own tiny dock and rowboat. I loved nothing more than to row alone on the water, making my way through the lilies, soaking up the fresh air and greenery I was starved for in the city.

My most vivid memory from that time is of my father—Mendek Rubin, brilliant inventor and successful businessman—gleefully marching up and down the staircase in his white V-neck T-shirt and patterned boxer shorts, making awful music with an accordion he’d just bought for himself. I’d shake my head as I watched him go by. He was jubilant, with a smile so huge his face could barely contain it, eyes sparkling with merriment. My dad was in his late fifties then, but he acted like a young boy who had received the best toy ever and was not at all self-conscious about abandoning himself to the joy of it.

My father never did learn how to play the accordion, but he loved making music with it nonetheless. He also bought himself a set of African drums and sat for hours completely absorbed creating different rhythms. His drumming was no better than his accordion playing, but he didn’t care.

This was the early 1980s, when discos were wildly popular. There was one a few miles from our house called Le Mans. Its doors opened at 9:00 PM, though no one would be caught dead arriving before 10:00 at the earliest—no one, that is, except for my father. My dad always loved to dance, and when he discovered he could have a huge shiny dance floor all to himself—with the added excitement of disco balls and swirling colored lights—you couldn’t keep him away.

Sometimes he was able to cajole my mother, sister and me to join him. It was fun dancing with him—watching him throw his head back in ecstasy as he reached his fingers high up towards the heavens—but my enjoyment was dampened by my embarrassment. I kept my eye on the time and entrance, making sure to rush us out before anyone else arrived. I was an insecure teenager who hadn’t yet realized what a miracle it was for a man with my father’s history to be so happy and free.

A decade later—at twenty-six, with a daughter of my own—I finally understood how fortunate I was to have a father that truly loved to play. From the time Marea was old enough for peek-a-boo, my dad was her number one playmate. Whether arranging her dolls in a big circle and covering them with blankets, crawling through a plastic tunnel, or making up songs as they walked hand-in-hand to visit the neighbor’s horse across the fence—my father was always 100% present and joyful.

My parents lived only a couple of miles away from us, and they babysat every weekday for two hours—first for Marea, and then for my son, Jeff, when he was born a few years later. My father liked to declare that he was in charge of the entertainment, and that being a grandfather was his most important job.

Back then, I still didn’t know the entirety of my father’s life story—how he’d managed to survive the Holocaust but lost almost everything during the war—his parents, four siblings, most of his extended family, his home and every single possession, as well as his faith in humankind, his optimism, and his pleasure in being alive.

I also didn’t yet know that a big part of his healing process was to fully embrace his inner child—the scared, shy young boy who’d always believed that he needed to become someone different that who he naturally was in order to be accepted.

My father wrote, “For most of my life, I never really liked the little child within me, and no wonder. I didn’t want to be a persecuted Jewish boy from Poland who was afraid of his own shadow. Why should I want to bother with him? Little Mendek’s needs, insecurities, and fears posed a danger to my peace of mind. He threatened the artificial self-image I had created for myself…When I finally understood that learning to love Little Mendek was a prerequisite to healing my pain, I stopped avoiding his gaze and looked at him with a new interest. I quickly grew to admire his curiosity, mechanical aptitude, and sense of wonder. I delighted in his ability to abandon himself unreservedly to life, love, and joy—a capacity that had lain dormant in me for many decades but had never been completely extinguished.”

My father made a vow that he would always love and cherish his inner child—a vow that I believe was as strong and sincere as the one he made to my mother when they got married. He told the insecure child within him that no matter what, he would always be his best friend and strongest ally. In this safe and appreciative atmosphere, “Little Mendek” began to wake up and blossom.

My father’s love and respect for his inner child extended to his feelings for all children. My dad said that we do everyone a great disservice when we think that adults have more to teach kids than they have to teach us. He saw that children live life in the present, love generously, express their emotions freely, and still have the capacity to believe in magic. He believed we should bow in reverence to children, not the other way around.

Today, three decades after my daughter was born, I am a grandmother to her two children. Just as my father taught me to how to hammer nails and pack salad in the early days of Earthbound Farm, he also set an exceptional example of how to be a grandparent.

Now, when I hold my two-year-old grandson on my lap as I read him his favorite funny stories, I try to be like my father: fully present and appreciative of every moment. Stroking Feliciano’s head as we laugh together, I feel surrounded by my dad’s boundless love and delight.

Happy Father’s Day to all dads everywhere!

Happy Father's Day!