I was the first born in the family so Dad was probably feeling overwhelmed and a bit unsure.

What to do with this little girl who didn’t want to sleep – ever – and who just wanted to be carried around so she didn’t miss anything?

Basically nothing has changed. I was as type A then as I am now. And being a father to me has been an unrelentingly high maintenance gig.

I am similar to Dad. We think in similar ways, have similar interests, a similar sense of humour, have a similar temperament, and a similar temper. We are workaholics and pathologically late.

But unlike Dad, I’m not good at everything. When I was a kid I wished I was good at maths like him. I didn’t have the talent but I had the determination. I would insist that he taught me how to do whatever my maths homework required, even if it was beyond me.

There would be tears and tantrums and pens thrown across the room. I was a passionate kid.

I felt everything deeply. Poor Dad.

When I was a teenager, I hated doing the dishes. I “hated” him for making me do them. My act of defiance was leaving the hot tap on for too long. It was his kryptonite. He hated wasting hot water as much as I hated doing the dishes. It was mutually assured destruction, every single night.

What a way to live …

When I was really angry at him, I would hide one of his shoes. Sneaking out of the house didn’t occur to me, but I think the shoe thing annoyed him more anyway.

Eventually I grew up. I was still high maintenance but that dogged determination and quest for justice was starting to take me places in the real world. Maybe the pain served a purpose.

Dad is a Mallee kid. He doesn’t gush. But when he says something you know he means it.

When I was married, he gave a short speech. He said I was “smart” and “fearless”.

When I gave my maiden speech in Parliament, he couldn’t be there but over the phone afterwards he said in a serious tone, “that was a good speech, Ali”. And I knew he really meant it.

Understated as it was, coming from Dad, it was the highest compliment.

I said in that speech that I “idolised” my Dad. I wasn’t sure whether to leave that in the final draft. I toyed with taking it out because it’s not the sort of thing a Mallee kid from my family would say. But it was true. My Dad is my hero. So I left it in.

Happy Fathers Day to the fathers, grand-fathers and father-figures who do the hard yards of loving and leading us every day of the year.

We love you, today and always.