Relevance of The Father’s Day

By: Akriti Bhardwaj, Apeejay School, Panchsheel Park

Father’s Day is weird. Like, do we even know what we’re supposed to feel?

For some, it’s all ‘Thanks, Dad!!’ with mugs, posts, and maybe a badly wrapped tie. For others? It’s just a normal Sunday filled with project files to complete.
Some of us have a dad who drives us everywhere, checks our water bottle before exams, and threatens to beat anyone who breaks our heart (thanks, king). Some of us have a dad who left before we even had a favorite colour.  

Maybe your dad is your hero, your biggest mystery, or even left when you were too young to ask why, or stayed and made you wish he hadn’t. Maybe he passed away before you could grow up, or just drifted away while you did.

Holding no grudges back, this day belongs to all the versions of fatherhood we’ve lived through: the protective, the flawed, the missing, the healing.

For the fathers who taught us to dream—and the ones whose absence taught us to survive.
For the ones who read bedtime stories, and the ones we imagined into existence.
For the dads who know our friends’ names and favourite songs, and the ones who never knew our birthdays.

Then there are the father-figures. Uncles, grandfathers, elder brothers, teachers, and moms who did both. You don’t need DNA to show up. 
And yeah, it stings when the internet turns into “me & my dad <3” and all you’ve got is a memory, or worse—confusion.

So here’s to all of it. The real stuff.

The dads who cheered the loudest, and the ones who left quietly. The ones we miss every day, and the ones we’re still trying to forgive. The ones who gave us our worst fears, and the ones who became our safest place. Not everyone gets the same version of ‘dad.’ Some get warmth, some get wounds. Some get both, some get neither. But here’s the wild thing—every version shaped us. The comfort. The chaos. The presence. The absence. All of it.

So, from now on, go beyond the Hallmark version. Say thank you, because one day you’ll realise how many times they chose you over everything else, and they never asked for recognition in return. How they bargain in your room, looking out of the window, sipping their tea, nodding like they understood something.
And then? Leaving just like that. (God, they’re complicated but loved.) 

And to those still waiting for that kind of fatherly love to arrive or heal, this is for you, too. You’ve become your own protector in ways the world may never notice. That’s a strength, and you deserve a celebration. Because this isn’t just a day for picture-perfect families.
It’s also for the messy, quiet, real ones. For healing, grieving, and even forgiving others or ourselves.