I’VE PRETTY MUCH GOT MEN FIGURED OUT. I mean, how hard could it be anyway, right?

I grew up with 11 brothers, had several guy friends in high school and then had two boys of my own.

When I was young we lived in the country and had to take the bus to school. Our bus stop was one of the first on the way to school and almost the last on the way home. That meant about an hour on the bus on our way to school and an hour on the bus on our way home. So my brothers and I would hike up over the hill, through the woods, through a couple of orchards and catch the bus on one of the last stops before school each morning. And then reverse that adventure on the way home each day.

When we were going through the dark woods behind our house, I remember it being a bit scary at first. Not for my brothers.

They couldn’t wait to run up that hill and find sticks and climb trees and fight off imaginary dragons and aliens. I would join in, but preferred looking at the ferns and different plants growing under the big trees. And once I discovered morel mushrooms growing under the dark damp leaves, I would spend so much time looking for my bounty, my brothers would have to come get me and hurry me along so I wouldn’t miss the bus, or dinner.

They thought I was wasting time collecting mushrooms and couldn’t see the fun in that at all. I would stuff my empty lunch pail with as many as I could find and I always felt so proud giving them to Mom. She would cook them up with dinner, and I noticed as my brothers were bragging about all of their adventures in the woods, they were also shoving forkfuls of mushrooms in their mouths as fast as they could.

Sure, I thought, they killed imaginary dragons — but I fed people.

One of my brothers would catch the perturbed look on my face and smile and comment on how delicious the mushrooms were. That always made me smile and I thought: Brothers are good to have around.

When I got older and started dating, I learned some new things about guys. One of the very first dates I can remember was with a guy I had a huge crush on. Gary was tall and blond and one of the cool guys. We went out on our first date and about halfway through the date he asked me what my middle name was. I said, “Jean.” He then asked if he could call me Jean because Loretta was too long.

I said, “No.”

Man, I thought, really? My name is too long? As I was sitting there puzzled, he then told me I had mascara on the side of my nose near my eye.

It was a freckle. Boys are stupid, was my next thought.

In my 20s I found a smart man and settled down to start a family. It was easy living with my brothers, so how hard could it be to live with a husband?

Let’s just say it’s not the same.

Sure he was smart, but he was stubborn, too. And he didn’t want to do his fair share of the work around the place!

OK, so maybe part of the last thing I just said was my fault. I pretty much went straight into the June Cleaver role and cooked and cleaned and shopped and did all the laundry, which I was really good at, and made curtains and homemade pillows and got busy playing house. It was fun at first, but after we had kids it was just plain work. All the time.

How could I fault him for digging in his heels and not helping when I had been doing everything for years?

As I was trying to figure out how to turn that whole situation around, I thought: Men are clever.

As my two sons were growing, it was fun to watch how their minds worked. My youngest would take everything apart and then put it back together. He would take apart my radio or a clock and then put it back just as it was. Once his father got a big new desk, but when it was delivered it was in a box, in pieces. As his dad carefully opened the box and got the instructions out to figure out how to put it together, our son started picking up pieces and turned the pile into a desk without hesitation, and without glancing at the five-page list of instructions.

My oldest son questions everything. And I mean everything. If someone told him the sky was blue, he would not only figure out why it’s blue, he’d go on to explain to you that it’s blue because blue light waves are shorter and smaller and are scattered more than any other color wave.

Or something like that. And that was when he was little.

Both of my sons are fearless, too. They will try anything. One time I found out they were playing “MacGyver” in our big shop. You remember McGyver, right? It was that TV show in the ’90s where the hero always got out of a tight spot with only a piece of string and some duct tape.

Well, my boys put a rope through the loop on the top of a backpack. Then they secured one end at the top of the 30-foot loft on the far end of the shop, and the other end all the way down toward the door, creating a long zip line. And then the youngest put it on his back while my older son sent him flying down. They didn’t take into account that the loop on the backpack wasn’t strong enough to hold a 50-pound kid. Instead of flying down a zip line, he crashed onto concrete.

He didn’t break anything, so they just went back to figuring out the next adventure. I’ll tell you about tennis fireball some other time.

Wow, I thought, boys are curious.

Now I’m older and wiser and have seen a few things in my life. I’m married to a great guy who gets me and I get him, too. Well, sort of.

My husband John is an interesting man. He is incredibly thoughtful and opens doors for me and always makes sure my car is clean and reliable. But then he forgets to close closet doors or kitchen drawers and leaves tools everywhere.

He’s such a romantic and brings me flowers and holds my hand in public and sometimes I catch him staring at me and he smiles and tells me I’m so beautiful. But he’s not big on birthday cards or love letters — and he’s a writer!

He also works harder than any man I have ever known. He will spend hours outside making the place look perfect, usually with earphones plugged in and singing at the top of his lungs. He can fix anything. And if he can’t, he’s smart enough to look it up on YouTube and then figure it out. But as far as cleaning the bathroom, forget it.

He is intellectual and can hold a conversation with anyone. He is educated and has travelled and is open-minded. Yet sometimes when I am talking to him he gets a look of such confusion on his face.

John is a wonderful father. He also has two boys and he would stop a train for either of them. When they call, he answers. I love that about him. And I love that he treats my boys the same. Even though he had no part in raising them, and he is not a dad to them, he loves them and wants the best for them too.

So maybe I don’t have men figured out. But I’m willing to spend the rest of my life trying to figure out the one I do have.

Happy Father’s Day to you, John.

Loretta Gavin is a writer and mother of two. She’s married to the author of “Online Dating Sucks … but it’s How I Fell in Love.” She’s also the subject of that book.