In my early 20s, my husband and I lived on Miami Beach. Our ward represented a small United Nations, with a varying mix of social classes. In our Primary, the majority of the children were from single parent homes. Since I’d grown up in the era of political correctness, I decided it was time to be progressive. When Father’s Day approached, I opted for us to skip over the requisite, “I’m So Glad When Daddy Comes Home.” After all, most of the kids never saw their fathers. There was no need to cause these children unnecessary pain. Father’s Day slid by without notice.