My father was not a part of my life growing up. I was raised by my mom and my grandparents but when I was 5, my mom married my dad. To some, the words “father” and “dad” mean the same thing, but to those like me who grew up with an absent father, they have entirely different meanings.

A father is the reason you’re alive and breathing. He’s the reason you were created. Simple as that.

A dad is the reason you are who you are. He may not be the reason you’re on this planet, but he’s the reason you’re sitting in that chair or car or couch right now with memories you might not remember, but he sure does.

A dad is the man who taught you how to throw a baseball and ride a bike without training wheels. He’s the man who took you on vacations and photobombed pictures you wanted to take of mountains or oceans but instead got of him with his tongue out or his finger up his nose. He’s the one you screamed at when you didn’t want to go to the dentist but cried when the doctor gave you a flu shot.

He’s the one you’d ask, “Can I stay over at a friend’s house this weekend?” because you knew your mom would say "no" and you had to hope he wouldn’t say, “Ask your mom.”

He’s the reason you know the names of each member of AC/DC and subconsciously hum along to Steve Miller Band songs you don’t even know the titles to. His DVD collection consisted of movies like “Rear Window” and every season of "The Andy Griffith Show" but when you’d spend your Saturday having a Disney marathon, he’d join you on the couch – only to fall asleep 10-minutes later.

When you complained about having period cramps and your mom knew to take ibuprofen and use a hot water bottle, your dad was the one making chicken noodle soup thinking if it helps a stomach ache, it’ll help cramps too, right?

He’s the one who you begrudgingly let talk to your friends, only to have your friends say one of two things: 1.) Your dad is so cool, or 2.) How is your dad even weirder than mine?

During those long family road trips, he’s the person you’d roll your eyes at when you’d complain “I’m hungry” and he’d reply with the infamous dad joke, “Hi hungry, I’m dad.”

When you brought home your first boyfriend, he was the one talking about cleaning a shotgun he probably didn’t even own. “Dad, relax. I promise he’s nice.” When that same boy broke your heart two months later, he’s the one who drove to the store to buy you ice cream and that movie with Zac Efron in it, and refused to say “I told you so.”

Or when you brought home your first girlfriend, he was the one nodding, “She seems nice,” until he found you sulking in your room two months later and offered the advice only a dad can give: a pat on the back and the entire story of how he met your mom.

You and your father share DNA, but you and your dad share memories that can’t be replicated and a bond that can’t be replaced.

Even though you’re not my father, thanks for being my dad.