Last week, as I was waiting (not so patiently) in my car, I noticed a man with spiky hair, a tattoo on his forearm and a nose piercing. He was walking slowly in the village square with a toddler in his arms. At one point he stopped, lifted the toddler up on to his shoulders and turned around to check on another two young children who were walking closely behind him.

The elder was a girl who couldn’t have been older than 10, and the younger one was a boy who was around four. The older children held hands and followed the man quietly. As they got close to a nearby church they called out: “Daddy, daddy, wait for us”.

‘Daddy?’ I said to myself in shock horror.

The man stopped and turned around, and the children started running towards him. The man put the toddler down and waited patiently and as the older kids arrived, he fixed their hair with his heavily tattooed hand. He then took the girl’s hand in his, and led the four of them into church.

I caught myself staring and almost gawking at this scene because the man just didn’t look like a dad to me. He looked more like something out of a punk rocker’s magazine, to be honest. He looked so off the wall that in a park, he’d be someone I’d likely tell my kids to stay away from – you know, just in case.

I was still waiting in my car when the four of them walked out again and as they passed closely, I heard the man say that now that they’d paid their respects to Jesus, they could all go swimming with their cousins. They all laughed wholeheartedly and the little one shouted in delight. They then made their way to a modified sports car and drove off quite noisily.

As I watched them turn the corner, I realised that I had been staring in awe for quite a while, and suddenly it hit me – I felt terribly ashamed because the things that had been running through my head were absolutely horrid. Suddenly I wanted to kick my stereotypical expectation of what a dad should look like into oblivion. Sadly, I had very quickly and disrespectfully placed this dad in a particular ‘category’ based exclusively on his appearance.

Shame on me, I say again, because whilst it might be as easy as pie to father a child, it’s not always easy to be a good dad, and clearly this one was being so, or at least he was trying his very best.

It’s Father’s Day today, and in my experience we don’t to tend to give this day half the importance we give to Mother’s Day. Maybe it’s just my personal experience, and maybe it’s justified because when it comes to children, women do seem to bear most of the brunt, but there are many good dads out there and they deserve to be celebrated.

After all, nature doesn’t discriminate, does it? As with motherhood, nature doesn’t only allow good dads to father children; sometimes it allows very bad dads to father children too, so if you’ve been dealt a good one, you should thank your lucky stars.

Let’s face it; men – especially the Mediterranean sort – are not very good with showing their feelings and emotions. They might be very vocal about their passion for football or fast cars, but the machismo inbuilt inside them usually makes them totally incapable of openly expressing their feelings to their children. They might speak highly of them behind their backs, they might even kiss them when they’re asleep, and most feel as if their children are their finest life achievements but, lo and behold, most can’t get themselves to say “I love you” to them, even if their life depended on it.

The stereotypes for fathers – and men in general – are long and thick; some are closer to the truth than others, but some need to be totally squashed because there are some special dads out there who are really pushing the envelope. These are the dads of special kids who, despite having had to deal with the trauma of having children with special needs, still come out smiling – sometimes even more so than dads whose kids have no special needs to speak of.

My dad is one such dad. He was brought up like most boys of his generation. He was taught not to show emotions, if not to take the mickey, but with my brother, who has special needs, my dad has proved that even macho Mediterranean men can throw a stereotype out of the window.

So here’s to all the good dads out there, all the dads who have been through thick and thin to be with their children, dads who have left this world but who will always be cherished in their children’s memories, step-dads who stepped in when they were needed, dads who are always there, dads who provide financially or emotionally; in essence, dads who – no matter what happens – always put their children first. Oh and – lest we forget – all the mums who, for some reason or another, have had to learn to be dads to their children as well.

But, most of all, here’s to all the dads who realise that the best thing they can do for their children is to keep their mother happy.