So, I have just returned from seeing The Fault in Our Stars, the touching story of Luke and Leia, and apparently how they love each other but not Jar Jar Binks. It was a Han Solo-hankie tear-jerker of a movie.

Really, it was the story of Gus and Hazel, two teenage cancer patients that fall in love, and, with their mothers’ permission, go to Amsterdam to lose their virginity and then, tragically, die. And yes, it was a tear-jerker of the very best sort.

This was arranged by my daughter. There was a special preview of the movie with an after-screening Q&A to the stars, author, and Alton Brown, who was flipping burgers. She has planned this thing for several weeks. She arranged for the tickets herself, seven female friends, and one male friend. She arranged the meeting time to get the best seats in line and prepared a survival kit of baked brownies, handmade “okay” pins, (a key sign of love between Gus and Hazel), and even decorated a tissue box with The Fault in Our Stars (TFIOS, for those of us on the ‘inside’). Point to the wise: you could make millions selling these tissue boxes outside of the theater.

As you can tell, this took the type of military recision-like planning that I, as a father, HAVE NEVER SEEN HER DO FOR HER MOTHER OF MYSELF. Just getting her homework done and room cleaned seems to take weeks.

Anyway, I leave my office early for the day and arrive at the theater. They are all seated. I have to admire her single male friend. He is either a cunning genius or he is such a sensitive guy that he makes Gus (who only deals with one teenage girl) look like an absolutely selfish jerk.

There are about 4,258 young women, Mollie’s friend, and myself in the theater. They have their popcorn and soda. Every girl is wearing a t-shirt, pin, or some sort of memorabilia. The staff passed out posters and little heart bracelets as part of the special event. Later I learn this means 640 theaters, which is probably 300,000 kids. Let the flood of tears begin.

About a half hour before the movie, a fine fellow comes to the front to explain what will happen. They will first play slides to explain the event. At 5:30, there will be the movie. At 7:40, the movie ends, and you have a 10 minute potty break. Then the cast, author and director will take a Q&A for 45 minutes, and then the event ends. To help us for the event, they have assigned an usher (broad-shouldered and handsome young man) to answer any questions that we may have.

OK, you just KNOW I could not resist. And fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on your view of the world), I was seated at the end of the row and had 45 minutes to kill. So I went up to make sure that I, in fact, did understand the event. I asked the kind of in-depth questions that are very important in planning such an event (really these are all true):

Question 1: Do you have a lifetime supply of Kleenex? Answer — no. Bu he is wearing sneakers that will not slip on the wet floor.

Question 2: What will you do? Answer — he has broad shoulders for the girls to cry on.

Question 3: But your poor shirt? Answer — I have a very nice t-shirt on under the polo shirt, and it will absorb all water necessary.

Question 4: If you break down in tears during the movie, what will happen? Answer — there is a backup usher standing at the ready to take my place should I fail my mission.

Question 5L Do you have a plan should the movie break down (either in tears or physically)? After all, these girls will rip you to pieces if the movie is not seen in its entirety. Answer — I will RUN for the exits. You are on your own.

True to form, the slideshow starts at 5 pm. There are two slides — the first is a logo (squeal), and the second announces that there is a Q&A following the movie. This has all of the stars and authors names, and promises that there will be a performance by “Birdy and Nat Wolff.” Viewers are to ‘tweet’ to a special hashtag that will be revealed later.

Yes, I head this — I am supposed to “tweet” to a “Birdy” about a “Wolff.” I always assumed that birdies are afraid of wolves. Further, this seems like something I would see in the Hunger Games, which starred a character named PETA, who in theory is protecting both birds and wolves, but not, apparently, Jennifer Lawrence. She has people to do that for her. (As a side note, the LA Times reviewer the next morning was Betsy Sharkey. Her review did not have much of a bite.)

I asked one of the tech-savvy girls to tweet the following: “Based on this tweet, do you not feel any conflict of having both “birdy” and “wolff” on the same stage?” She refused.

The slides cause an uproar of squeals in the theater. Then they break down, and I worry about the safety of the patrons (okay, really myself — I sorta stand out here). I look over to the usher, and he is white as a sheet.

Fortunately, the movie starts at 5: 30 as scheduled. The previews get another loud squeal, and I sense the movie with the impending dread of hearing loss. I once went to a Morrissey concert with my then-teenage nieces, and the squeals were so loud as to cause Morrissey to turn around and bend over repeatedly. I never thought I’d survive.

The movie is terrific. As each star comes onscreen, there are squeals. There are certain touchpoints in the book that each of the kids knows, and they squeal at every single one of them. Gus is played by a fellow with a line-backer’s body and a teddy bear’s face. He is adorable and loveable. Shailene Woodley is excellent as Hazel, who excels at wearing an oxygen tube through the entire movie. The tears from the girls are flowing — I suspect the California drought is now over.

And then I learned about the Sniffle-Snort. Here’s how it happened: the movie is at a critical stage where Gus is dying. I actually tear up and am about to sniffle. At the same exact time, the combined sound of 5,312 teenage girls sobbing into tissues occurs and I laugh. The result — a Sniffle-Snort. What I can tell you is: it is painful, it is embarrassingly loud, it is awkward to do in front of your wife, 7,323 kids, and your teenage daughter.

The movie ends. The girls and I all flow out in a river of tears to compose themselves in the bathroom.

As I drive home, here is the more reflexive part of the evening. The movie is about how we deal with our families and friends in the light of a dread disease. It is moving and powerful, and after having seen this and having read the book, I can appreciate why the author is a hero to millions of teenage kids. My daughter waited three hours with thousands of teenage fans at a book signing by this ‘rock star.’

When you get to my age, you start to really lose people from these diseases. There have been way too many deaths in the last few years.

My father is a cancer survivor, adn recently a by-pass survivor as well. He is the one who taught me to be goofy, and he is smart enough to have married my mother. It rubbed off — I’m trying to be an F-ing genius to my wife and daughter.

In a week, we’ll all drive out to the desert to spend Father’s Day with Pop and Mom. I’ll do some chores, we’ll sit around and probably go out for lunch. It is a long day, and it is easy to take these trips for granted. Perhaps I should not.

Happy Father’s Day to all of us.