There was one fine day I remember it clearly when Dad came home from work carrying a box of Krispy Kreme doughnuts. I took a bite, and in that moment of sugary joy, I said to him, “Wow, I love these!”From that day on, every Friday, without fail, he turned up with a fresh box. At first, I didn’t catch on. I just thought the doughnut fairy had excellent timing. But then I realised  there was a pattern. So, naturally, I decided to test a theory.

I texted him one Friday and said, “Hey, could you bring some avocados? I’ve been loving avocado toast lately.”

That Friday, he turned up with…you guessed it, avocados and doughnuts. Apparently, once you like something, my dad turns into a personal shopper with the memory of an AI robot.

Eventually, I had to stop him. I told him no more doughnuts sugar makes my eczema flare up. Tragic, I know.

So he stopped the doughnuts. But the avocados? Oh, they never left the building. Every Friday, rain or shine, he walks in with those green buttery boys like it’s part of his life mission.

But wait…..it gets better.

My sister once  (ONE TIME) mentioned she liked strawberries. That’s all it took. This man is now on a nationwide mission to deliver the finest strawberries known to humankind. He’ll be on a work trip in a random prefecture and still manage to send her a box of “These strawberries are special, they only grow on the south-facing hill of Mount Fuji at sunrise”. Like sir, are you a father or a gourmet fruit concierge?

At this point I’ve realised: dads are a different breed.

They love being useful. It’s their favourite sport. They don’t just want to help, they need to help. They hear “I like this” and immediately convert into a full-time subscription service.

Now, I did write my dad a heartfelt letter already (I’m not a monster), but I figured the internet also deserves to know about the legend I call “papa”.

Also, confession time.. every time I want to buy something expensive, I text him:

“Hi papa, can I use your card? I’ll pay you back.”

Lies. All lies. I’ve never paid him back. Not once. Not even for a packet of chewing gum. And somehow, he still hands over the card like he’s holding out hope I’ll suddenly win the lottery and settle my debts.

He’s insanely busy, I’m talking meetings, flights, deadlines, the works but he still makes time for all four of us. We live in different cities, yet this man does the Fatherhood Tour every week. He visits each of us, takes us out to eat, stocks our fridges, gives unsolicited career advice, and sometimes even fills our cupboards with snacks we didn’t know we needed.

He’s kind. He’s honest. He’s hardworking. He’s so dad it hurts. And we’re genuinely lucky he’s ours.

So to all the dads out there:

Happy Father’s Day to you absolute legends.

And to my papa:

You are adored. You are important. And yes, you are definitely being scammed by your children. But also, you’re loved. Deeply.

Happy Father’s Day, Papa.