Every summer we would vacation at my grandpa's A-frame cabin that he built himself, which was situated on a lake. The lake had an island in the middle of it, and my dad would swim over on his back, and I would hang on to his chest. There was an imaginary gorilla living on that island, and he would take me to visit him, acting as his voice and making up fantastical stories. Ever since, I've always associated hairy chests with masculinity, safety, security, and magic.