I remember a dad handing me flowers after a school play, driving me to a speech tournament at the crack of dawn on a Saturday, cheering from the sidelines, and crying at both my graduation and my shotgun wedding. My Alzheimer’s-plagued dad remembers that he’s supposed to remember me, but he doesn’t know my name. That’s the bitter part of Father’s Day.

I remember a dad tearing up when his first daughter was born, calling me with excitement when we got a referral for twins, celebrating when I told him I was pregnant, grinning uncontrollably as our last adoption hearing ended, hugging kid after kid after kid every single day, and tickling and scolding and hugging some more. My partner is a thoughtful, engaged, patient, understanding, creative, and fiercely loyal dad, and the kids and I are lucky to have him. That’s the sweet part of Father’s Day.

Happy day to all the fathers and father figures who deserve it.