The story goes that my paternal grandfather would have been named Henry Paul Simmer, just like the three generations before him, except that somewhere there was a mistake and the name was inverted. My dad was also named after his father but instead of being Henry Paul Simmer V, my dad is Paul Henry Simmer Jr.

My parents chose to deviate from tradition, giving me a first name that comes from my maternal grandfather. But rather than simply honor one side of my heritage, my parents gave me a name that reflects my father and his ancestors.

In some ways, my dad is the epitome of fathers everywhere. He has that terrible dad humor that is funny to very few people (himself and my almost-second-little-brother, the neighbor kid). He knows chunks of song lyrics and famous jingles like the Oscar Meyer Bologna song, something about Legs Like Toothpicks, and a strangely-profound Malvina Reynolds/Pete Seeger track that rants against post World War II suburban expansion.

He has always been committed to family and community. He worked hard for the State of Michigan for 30 years (I don’t remember the exact number but I’m sure he has it down to the day). He was around for most of our activities growing up except for spring forest fire season when he was working every day for well over a month straight. A few years he went out West in August when half of the country’s forests catch on fire to lend a hand. In 1994 I recall us getting a new dog while he was gone to “cope” with his absence (more likely avoiding his opposition).

While we’re really different in a lot of respects, my dad and I have a strong love of Michigan, the Tigers, and incessantly quoting from television shows and movies. It is easy to see how we’re related and I’m so very thankful to be named for him and the others that have come before him.