Although I confess that living with the mood swings of my four adolescent daughters is not easy, every Father’s Day I’m literally brought to tears by the good fortune I have to love and be loved by my perfectly imperfect kids.

No experience or achievement I know rivals the turbulent blessings of fatherhood.

My grandparents frequently used two Yiddish phrases to describe the pleasure they had from their grandchildren. Naches (if you’ve never heard it, I don’t know how to tell you how to pronounce it since it doesn’t rhyme with any English word I know) means to experience joy. Kvell means to beam with pride and pleasure.

I get naches from good conversations, warm hugs, and hearing others say nice things about my kids. And that makes me kvell.

You’ve probably noticed how often I shamelessly talk about my children. And, before I forget, I must tell you that just yesterday, Mataya, my fifth-grader, made my buttons pop with pride when she delivered a commencement address that rivaled the one her eighth-grade sister gave two weeks earlier.

I have no illusions that I’m objective, but I don’t care to be when it comes to my children.

There are plenty of times when I express frustration, disappointment, and anger at certain things they say and do, but at the end of each day I feel grateful for the ample quantity of pride and joy that makes it all worthwhile. I just love being a dad.

If we take the time to notice and savor all the heart-grabbing moments our children give us, how can we not feel deeply thankful?

That’s why I think of Father’s Day as another Thanksgiving Day.

This is Michael Josephson reminding you that character counts.