Ah, Father’s Day. The one day in the year where barbecues are burned, socks are gifted, and sermons are sprinkled with “men must lead” clichés. A day wrapped in neckties and uncomfortable silences. It’s weird. It’s cringe. It’s complex. It’s real life.
Let’s be honest — Father’s Day doesn’t hit the same for everyone.
In my world, it’s rarely celebrated unless the men at church take initiative to plan something… for themselves. Yes. For themselves. With a little help from their wives and kids. Because of course — even when it’s “Men Only,” women still do the behind-the-scenes magic. And the teen girls from youth? Always pulled in to create cute cards, organize a breakfast, or rehearse a dance number that makes the men in suits smile awkwardly and say, “Ah, thank you, thank you.”
Then there’s the church prayer version — the short, generic “May the Lord bless the fathers” prayer from the pastor, followed by a congregational murmur of "Amen," and we move on to the offering. That’s it. Happy Father’s Day. Now turn to 2 Samuel.
But beyond the awkward group photos and the post-service tea and biscuits, let’s talk about fathers — and I mean all kinds.
Because “father” isn’t just a title you inherit from DNA. It’s a complicated relationship, a mirror, a scar, a blessing, a mystery, and sometimes… a ghost.
1. To the Great Fathers
You showed up. You stayed. You provided, not just materially, but emotionally. You learned to say “I love you” even when it wasn’t said to you growing up. You drove us to school, taught us how to fix things (or at least how to Google it), made dad jokes that we rolled our eyes at — but secretly loved. You were present, even when you were tired. To you: Thank you. We celebrate you loudly today.
2. To the Absent Fathers
Maybe you left. Maybe you stayed but emotionally clocked out. Maybe your shadow has been louder than your presence. You taught us something, too — about healing, boundaries, and self-worth. Sometimes, your absence forced us to become strong before we were ready. That pain? It grew resilience. We don't have to glorify it, but we can acknowledge it. And still rise.
3. To the Deadbeat Dads
Yeah, we said it. You dipped. You disappeared. You made excuses. You made promises you never planned to keep. This is not a cancellation. This is an accountability memo. You still matter — but we need more than just your name on a birth certificate. We need your effort, not your ego. It’s not too late, but it has to start with truth.
4. To the Surrogate Fathers
The uncles, big brothers, pastors, teachers, mentors, stepdads, neighbors, coaches — the men who stood in the gap. Who showed up at prize-giving ceremonies, taught us how to ride bikes, gave advice (even when we didn’t want it), and told us to get home before the streetlights. You might not carry our last name, but you helped carry our lives. You are loved. Deeply.
5. To the Complicated Fathers
You're here… but it’s complicated. Maybe you don’t say much. Maybe you struggle to connect. Maybe you're better at building things than expressing emotions. Maybe our relationship is defined by respect more than love. And maybe that’s okay — for now. This is a space for you too. Because real fatherhood doesn’t come in perfect packaging.
6. To the Grieving Ones
You lost your father. Or your child lost theirs. Or you never knew yours. Father’s Day can feel like a wound wrapped in ribbons. It’s okay to cry. It’s okay to laugh at an old memory. It’s okay to say nothing at all. Grief has no schedule. Let today be what it needs to be.
My Story?
Well, my father and I… we’re not that close. He’s just my father. And I’m just his daughter. We’re civil. We coexist. There’s no drama, but also no depth. It’s a quiet bond, maybe built more on blood than shared dreams. And you know what? That’s my story. That’s my life. That’s valid too.
So wherever you find yourself today — whether you’re celebrating, remembering, mourning, or questioning — this day is still yours. It’s a Father’s Day for everyone.
Because fatherhood is not one shape. It’s a collage of impact. Some beautiful. Some broken. Some still in progress.
And maybe that’s what makes this day so important — not the perfection of fatherhood, but the power of its presence (or lack of it) in shaping us.
So, to all the fathers, and father-figures, and the people healing from them:
We see you. We honor your story. And we hold space for every version of “Dad.”
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