I was 15 when my struggles with acne began. Sore, red and scattered unevenly across my entire face, the pimples impacted my confidence greatly. I was only just starting to come to terms with my sexuality and all of a sudden I was being called "crater face" in the school corridors.
While many fathers might've offered stock-standard words of encouragement, my dad did one better. He took me to the makeup section of Myer.
Approaching one of the makeup artists and asking all the questions I would've been too scared to ask alone, Dad bought me the perfect concealer, foundation and make-up brush. He didn't judge me or question whether makeup was for men. In fact, it was all his idea - and for the next three years I wore a dab of foundation every day without other students noticing.
Having watched a number of friends struggle with the projections and expectations of their own dads, I've always been acutely aware of how lucky I am. To have been raised with the unconditional love of a sensitive, emotionally intelligent and open-minded father was vital to surviving the numerous challenges of adolescence and being a teenager struggling to find my place.
Regardless of my interests and passions, of which there were many over the years, my dad always offered his support, if not his precise understanding. When I played soccer as a kid, he volunteered as coach (I'm not sure either of us were much good). When I discovered my love for French cinema, he would record films on SBS to watch with me on the weekend.
When I had a crush on pop singer Jesse McCartney, Dad woke up at the crack of dawn to drive me to the set of Sunrise, where I waited several hours, pressed my nose up against the glass and mouthed along to the words of 'Beautiful Soul'.
Instead of pushing me one direction or another, he acted as an emotional safety net - always there to pick me back up after a fall. While other boys felt the need to assert their masculinity in myriad ways, I never once felt that my dad hoped I would turn out a certain way. He really, truly just wanted (and still wants) me to be happy.
While it might not have been the huge surprise I'd initially envisioned, coming out to Dad at 16 was a memorable experience for another reason: he just didn't care. When I started dating soon after, he'd ask whether certain friends were "boyfriends" or "friends who are boys". He never once looked at me differently - and I know that's more than so many others in my position can say.
When it came to last year's , my dad went beyond his comfort zone to express his support.
A quiet, reserved man, he printed out A3 posters I'd designed and handed them out to small businesses in Tony Abbott's electorate of Warringah, sending me multiple selfies throughout the day.
For some members of the LGBTIQ+ community, Father's Day is a sad day; a reminder of their fractured, distant or non-existent relationships with their own dads. But for me - and hopefully a growing number of others - it's just another opportunity to reflect on the importance of family (both blood and chosen). Another chance to express our love and gratitude for the positive, uplifting, non-toxic male role models in our lives.
Because they make more of a difference than they know.
