While most kids were squeezing in one last pool day or perfecting their end-of-summer tan, I was clocking out of my shift at the family store. That’s right — while my friends spent their summer breaks lifeguarding or flipping burgers, I was mastering the art of organizing shelves and unpacking endless deliveries. Forget campfires and s’mores; I had the distinct aroma of cardboard boxes and dust to keep me company.

“Men and women aren’t equal; women are better,” my dad would often proclaim with a mix of pride and playful irony. It was a stance he had to adopt, considering the formidable women who ruled his world—not only five intensely strong-willed daughters who each brought their unique spark to the family but also a family business led by a powerful matriarch, my grandmother.

I never had the pleasure of meeting the original matriarch, Maryanna, who had laid the groundwork for our family legacy, but the vibrant, blue-haired powerhouse that was my grandmother was a force to be reckoned with. She kept everyone on task, her sharp eyes missing nothing.