My parents were only 17 when I was born. Their marriage did not last. I did not see my birth father again until after I had a child of my own. During my childhood there were two more men my mother married, who adopted me, divorced, and moved on without looking back. She married a fourth time after I was married, so he didn't adopt me. We never developed a deep relationship.
I did a little better in providing a father for my children. We were sealed in the temple and all my children were sired by the same man. He provided for us enough that I could stay home with the children, but we always had to scrimp, while he did not. He didn't just send his family to church; we all went. He served well and faithfully in many church callings, too. But whether or he loved us as best he could, it was not enough. None of us are perfect, I know. But he didn't love his wife and children as we should have been loved, provide for us as well as he could, preside in the home, or treat us with courtesy.
Partly because of the disappointments of the fathers in my life, in contrast I greatly admire and appreciate the men who are true fathers. Most of all, I am grateful that my grandchildren have good fathers.