Why We Celebrate Father’s Day

byIrisjeNL

322 followers

6 months ago

Why We Celebrate Father’s Day

I’ve always had mixed feelings about Father’s Day. Not because I don’t love my dad—I do, even if we don’t say it much—but because the day itself feels oddly complicated. Or maybe personal. I’m not sure.

You grow up thinking these holidays are just... things. Days on the calendar with cards and commercials. But when you stop and actually look at them—what they mean, how they started, who celebrates and who doesn’t—it gets more layered. Messier, even. And Father’s Day is no exception.

So, why do we celebrate it?

The easy answer is: to honor fathers. That's the line you hear most. To say thank you, to show appreciation. And yeah, that makes sense. Dads work hard. A lot of them do, anyway. They show up at baseball games, fix dripping faucets, drive you to school half-asleep with coffee in hand. Sometimes they say the wrong thing, or too little, or way too much—but they’re there. Ideally.

But the full story, the actual reason we celebrate Father’s Day, starts in the early 1900s. Around 1910, a woman named Sonora Smart Dodd decided fathers deserved their own day, just like mothers had. Her own dad, William Jackson Smart, was a Civil War veteran who raised six kids on his own after his wife died. She wanted to honor him.

It didn’t take off right away. There were a few events, some newspaper clippings. Then it kind of fizzled. People liked the idea—but not enough to make it official. It wasn’t until decades later, after Mother's Day had already been widely adopted, that Father’s Day became a thing nationally. In fact, it didn’t become a federal holiday until 1972. That’s pretty recent, all things considered.

And even then, it felt like... I don’t know, a bit of a reluctant nod. Like, “Fine. Dads can have a day too.”

Which says something, doesn’t it? About how we view fathers. Or maybe how we used to.

There’s this image of the father as strong, silent, a bit removed. The provider. The guy who taught you to drive or mow the lawn, but maybe didn’t talk much about feelings. And for a long time, that was enough. That was the bar. “He worked hard.” “He wasn’t abusive.” “He provided.” And that was that.

But lately—I think—things are shifting. Slowly, not everywhere, but enough that it’s noticeable. Dads today are more involved. Some stay home while their partners work. Some pack lunches and know their kids’ teachers by name. Some go to therapy, read parenting books, try to break cycles they were raised with. That matters. Even if they're figuring it out as they go.

So Father’s Day has become more than just a tie-and-grill fest. It’s become a kind of reflection point. A moment to pause and think about the role dads play. The ones who raised us, and the ones raising kids now. The good ones, the flawed ones, the ones who tried their best but missed the mark. And also—maybe especially—the ones who weren’t there at all.

Because here’s the thing: not everyone has a father worth celebrating. Some people never knew theirs. Others knew them too well—knew the damage they could do. That’s part of the story too. And if we’re being honest, Father’s Day can bring all that up. Not just gratitude, but grief. Or confusion. Or anger.

Maybe that’s why the holiday doesn’t feel as loud as Mother’s Day. It’s quieter. More reserved. It’s not plastered everywhere in the same way, and maybe that’s appropriate. Because the idea of “dad” isn’t one-size-fits-all. It’s complicated.

For me, Father’s Day is usually pretty simple. A card, a phone call, maybe dinner if we’re in the same city. We don’t do big speeches or anything. But I do think about him. My dad. I think about the weird, specific ways he shaped who I am. How I always double-check that I locked the door—because he always did. How I mumble “yep” instead of “yes,” just like he does. How I freeze up a little when I try to say something emotional. Again, like him.

He didn’t always know how to be present. Sometimes he disappeared into work, or into silence. But he also built bookshelves for my dorm room and once drove six hours to help me move, even though I insisted I had it handled. I didn’t. He knew that.

That’s the kind of thing we remember on Father’s Day. Not the perfect dad stuff—not the idealized version—but the small, real things. The times they showed up. The effort, however clumsy.

I guess part of the reason we celebrate Father’s Day is because being a dad isn’t easy. It’s not instinctual, always. A lot of men didn’t grow up with healthy examples of fatherhood, and now they’re trying to figure it out in real time. That deserves recognition, I think. Maybe not applause, but... acknowledgment.

And then there are the people who fill the role of “dad” without technically being one. Stepdads, grandfathers, uncles, foster parents, mentors. People who show up in that father-shaped space. They might not get a lot of credit. But on Father’s Day? I think they should.

Still, it’s funny how the day can mean so many different things depending on who you are.

Some people go all out—barbecues, gifts, long toasts. Others skip it entirely. A few might feel guilty they forgot. Some feel guilty they remembered. And some just sit with the feeling that something’s missing.

I guess the deeper reason we celebrate isn’t really about fathers, but about what fatherhood represents. Guidance. Protection. Imperfection. Sacrifice. Presence. Or absence. Sometimes the whole tangled mess of it.

We celebrate to say, “I see what you did.” Or maybe, “I wish you’d done more.” Or even just, “I’m thinking of you.” That’s enough, sometimes.

And sure, there’s a commercial side. The ads and sales, the pressure to buy the right thing. That’s true of every holiday now. But beneath all that is something quieter. More reflective. A recognition that fatherhood matters—not because it’s perfect, but because it leaves a mark. One way or another.

So yes, we celebrate Father’s Day. Not always loudly. Not always with clarity. But we pause. We notice. We remember.

And maybe—just maybe—we say thank you.

Even if it’s only once a year.