His 50th, to be exact.

My dad was born to a Christian family, one of eleven children, in the country town of Hamilton in Western Victoria. My dad is gay, so growing up in such an environment wasn’t easy.

His whole life he has had a knack for communication. Bringing his voice, his ideas to other people, through a family newsletter when he was young, to a home built radio station when he was a teenager, to having his own show on a fully fledged radio station. Even now, all these years later, he maintains this knack, with a blog and a twitter. I always enjoy reading his blogs, sharing his policies, his views, his ideals with the masses.

And of late, his involvement in the Gay Rights movement.

For this, and many other reasons, my dad is my idol. His tenacity and his bravery, his love and compassion, and above all his resilience in the face of hatred and bigotry.

My dad, my mum, my sister and I moved to Melbourne when I was 1. My parents split up when I was 3, not long after my dad came out. My dad raised my sister and I alone. In simplicity, I did not have a “normal” childhood. I did not have everything I wanted; there wasn’t the money for it. I did not have the family most children had; my parents were not together. But I lived and grew with the love my dad gave me. Certainly, I did not have the same things as others of my generation growing up. I did not play Zelda or Mario, nor did I eat the best of meals. I did not have two parents living together, like a “happy” “proper” family.

But my family was happy. My family was loving. My family was caring, and nurturing, and wholesome.

My childhood, despite the hardships, was a good one.

And I have my dad to thank for that, for raising me to be the best human being I could possibly be. Just like him.

So today, of all days, on your birthday, I shall take the time to utter words I usually do not say, and that I should say more often.

Thank you, dad. I love you.

You really screwed me over with the hairline, though.