30 years ago this fall, my dad became a father for the first time. Two and a half years after that, at nearly the exact same age I am today, his second daughter (that’s me!), was born. And then just 10 years ago he legally adopted a third. Yes, the fact that he can even breathe with all the estrogen is somewhat remarkable.

Things were not always as they are today. My parents divorced when I was 11 and though we’re really great about never talking about it, it was an incredibly tough time for all of us. I think we all bare some scars from those months and years. There were times of resentment, of anger, of sadness. There were times when I couldn’t write the things I’m writing today. Times when my bitterness was too great.

Those scars have finally faded. And what’s left now is more precious and unblemished than I ever thought it would be.

My father is one of those people who is impossible to describe succinctly. He is often soft-spoken, but even in his times of silence, he is deeply passionate. He’s incredibly intelligent and protective in a way that sometimes surprises me. He has a way about him that makes you feel safe and comfortable most of the time, but when he wants to, can also make you feel so horribly guilty that you want to apologize for every wrong you’ve ever committed. One look and the four words of doom, “I’m disappointed in you” and I dissolve into a puddle of tears and regrets.

I’d like to think that the guilt induction is a skill I had an extra special hand in helping him develop.

My dad is also hilarious in his own, quirky way. He tells jokes that you don’t want to laugh at, but that you can’t stifle laughter over either. He’s hilarious on the phone because the man can text like you wouldn’t believe, but lo, if the call waiting beeps, there’s about a 75% chance he’ll hang up on you, but not before saying in a far away voice, “if they didn’t make these buttons so damn small…”

And don’t get me started on the time we convinced him to look at Urban Dictionary. My mind may be scarred forever, I know his is.

A little over a year ago, my dad got sick with something that his doctors couldn’t quite figure out. It was months of him not feeling well, of scary diagnoses being tossed around. And while it ended up fine, I can barely even begin to tell you how often I was terrified for what might happen next. He was so fragile and his face so obviously showed how tired and weary he was. In those months, I think I worried more than I have in years. The thought of losing my father was something I couldn’t even begin to cope with.

And it was after that scare that I really began to realize how much of my childhood and teenage years I wasted, not noticing, not appreciating him for the incredible influence that he always was. Never realizing how blessed I really was to have him in my life. Refusing to let go of anger, of bitterness enough to see how lucky I was to have a father like him.

I realize now.

And I am so grateful.

We have a running joke that I’ve married my father, because in many, many ways my husband is a lot like my dad. They have similar mannerisms, similar personalities, similar terrible jokes. They even have a almost the same dark brown curly hair and blue eyes. And while sometimes it scares me how much they are alike, it also comforts me in a (totally non-icky) way.

Because it means my children will get to have a father like mine.

If you had asked me ten, or maybe even five years ago, I probably could’ve told you a short list of things I’d change about my history with my dad. And maybe life has had a hand in this, maybe it’s just growing up, but this year I’m thankful for all of it. For the good and the bad, the easy and the complicated.

Our relationship is imperfect, our history is not without strife, but I am so fortunate to have a father who supports me all the time, even when he probably shouldn’t, even when I make it difficult. To have a father who would walk to the end of the earth for me without ever being asked, who would do it with a smile on his face if it meant bringing one to mine. To have a father who makes failure seem impossible, who makes dreams seem attainable, who makes life seem full of endless possibilities.

For all of that and so many reasons that I can’t even begin to articulate, I am grateful for my dad.

Happy Father’s Day Dad.

I love you more. Infinity times infinity more, to be exact.

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