I met Ben more than twenty years ago, when our family moved into the house that was across the street from his family’s house on a quiet cul-de-sac.

Married with four kids, Ben is a hard-working man with a firm handshake and a big laugh. If he wanted to, he could make you think he’s gruff around the edges, but I know him well enough to tell you he’s all heart.

For the past 30 years Ben has worked on a factory schedule. Most of the time that means he’s awake long before dawn, putting in ten-hour manual labor shifts by the time it’s 3PM. The guy has plenty of reasons to be tired.

In his early days at the plant, Ben was a supervisor, on track to make more money and be, as some would say, more “successful.” But his responsibilities at work were keeping him away from family, so he requested a demotion and he got it.

Decades later, he’s still worked on the floor at that factory. And he never missed one of his oldest son’s basketball games, not a single half of his youngest son’s football games, none of his daughters’ track meets or cheerleading competitions either.

Choir concerts, paper routes, service projects, camping trips—Ben made time so he could be there for them all, because being a dad was far more important to him than making big bucks or adding fancy titles to his résumé.

I’m telling you, the guy’s a genius.

I remember a story his daughter Lisa told me once about a time she and her dad had gone golfing together, just the two of them.

Lisa was in her mid-twenties, and she had lots of mid-twenties friends and mid-twenties excitement filling her schedule. But that weekend she spent an afternoon’s worth of par three’s with Ben.

I remember her telling me, with a big grin, it was the best date she’d been on in ages. She was only partly joking though—there was enough joy on her face to make any little girl’s dad go out and buy a whole set of golf clubs. Or at least hang out with his little girl for an afternoon.

Because when they’re twenty-something, don’t we all want to look back and say we’ve become that kind of man for them? A father who’s also a friend.

Which brings me to one more thing about Ben: when it came to his daughters’ dating lives, he was fairly traditional. He told his girls they shouldn’t ever have to invite a guy to have dinner or go to a movie. It’s the man who should do the asking, Ben says, and it’s the man who should pay too.

But interestingly enough, those nine holes on the links were at Lisa’s request and on Lisa’s dime. They were the gift she chose to give her dad for his birthday that year.

How was Ben persuaded to go against his own code of chivalry? That was easy, considering the day’s main events included golf and time with one of his kids. Besides, according to Lisa, he didn’t exactly break both his rules.

Picking up the tab in the clubhouse is something she’ll admit to. Setting the date in motion, however, she won’t take any credit for.

“I asked him to go golfing, sure,” she says. Then, smiling and shaking her head a little, “But his whole life is the invitation.”