To the Great Fathers: Happy Father’s Day

There have been moments in my life—quiet, ordinary moments—when I have seen a father tie a child’s shoe, lean down to kiss a forehead, or bend awkwardly over a tea party table with stuffed animals watching on, and I have had to turn away, blinking back the ache. A soft kind of jealousy rises—gentle, not bitter—like the longing of someone who knows what love can look like but never got to hold it in their own hands.

I have often watched the good fathers—the kind ones, the steady ones, the generous ones—with a mixture of awe and yearning. And on this day, this sacred space we call Father’s Day, I want to pause, to bow deeply, to those men. The great fathers. The ones who stayed. The ones who listened. The ones who grew as their children grew.

It is no small thing to be a good man in this world. It is no small thing to be a good father.

There are fathers who wake before the sun to begin the day’s work, not for glory but for groceries. Fathers who learn to braid hair, who pack lunches with little notes, who sit in parking lots during dance rehearsals or baseball practices and never complain. Fathers who laugh with their whole bodies, who cry when they’re proud, who say “I’m sorry” when they get it wrong and “I love you” without hesitation.

These are the fathers we honor today—the ones who create safety not by force, but by consistency. Who raise children not with power, but with presence. These fathers are like the breath in a yoga practice—the thing you return to again and again, the thing that holds you up when everything else starts to shake.

I did not have that kind of father. Mine taught me other lessons—how to survive, how to stay alert, how to build strength from the inside out. And though I carry scars from that story, I do not let them close my heart to what fathering can be. In fact, it has made me love the good ones even more.

It is a beautiful thing to witness a child resting easily in their father’s arms, to see trust that has been earned, love that is spoken aloud, and guidance that does not harm. These are the men who hold the world together more than they know. Quiet heroes in the background. Anchors. Earth beneath bare feet.

In yogic thought, we speak of sthira—steadiness. A good father is sthira. A presence so grounded that a child can learn to fly from it.

To those men who have loved deeply and led gently, who have chosen to stay soft in a world that often demands hardness—I see you. I thank you. You are doing holy work.

To the adoptive fathers, the stepfathers, the grandfathers who stepped in and offered love where others could not—you are proof that fatherhood is not made by blood, but by the willingness to show up, over and over, in kindness.

To the men who learned to father themselves first, who healed their own pain so they would not pass it on—you are extraordinary.

And to the fathers who have passed on, whose love still lingers like incense in the rooms they once walked through—we light a candle for you today.

On this Father’s Day, I want to say this plainly: I have known love because I have seen it in your hands. Even from a distance, your goodness has touched me. You have given the world something irreplaceable.

To the great fathers of the world—the ones we’ve known, the ones we’ve wished for, and the ones who rise each day to love well—you are the quiet heartbeat of humanity. Thank you for being here.

Hari Om Tat Sat