A father's greatest gift

Ed, Jake and Grant at St. George Island, summer 2006

In honor of Father’s Day this Sunday, here is a column I published on June 20, 2004. It is called “A Father’s Greatest Gift Is His Children.’’

Dear Ed, Grant and Jake:

No, this isn't going to be another lecture. I'm not glaring at you over the top of my glasses.

I'm not going to ride your tail and remind you it's time for a haircut or to tuck in your shirt.

This is a thank-you note from a father to his three sons.

Thanks, guys.

Last week, another writer asked me to describe how I felt when I published my first book in 1997.

"I picked it up, held it in my arms and cried,'' I said. "It was likebecoming a father for the first time.''

Of all my life experiences, there has been no greater joy than my children.

I don't expect you to fully understand that now. One day, when you become fathers, I hope you will.

I remember each of those trips to the hospital to bring you into the world. Once, our car raced through the dark streets at 2 a.m. with your mother's contractions getting closer together. In the delivery room, I realized it's possible to be exhilarated and terrified at the same time.

In Lamaze classes, we had learned how expectant mothers should breathe.

Fathers could use some breathing lessons, too.

Those childbirth classes also emphasized the importance of having a "focal point" during the delivery.

Since the moment each of you arrived, you have been our focal point.

You've probably heard other men talking about the day they became fathers. The stork showed up. Cigars were passed around. Tears were dabbed at the windows of the hospital nursery.

But birth is only the opening act on the stage of happiness. "Proud father" is a permanent badge.

Fatherhood does not come with an instruction manual. There is no toll-free number to call for technical support, as there is with computers and lawn mowers.

Much of it is trial and error. OK, I'll admit sometimes it has been your trial and my error. But, for the most part, father knows best.

Don't ever forget it.

Parenting brings its share of splinters. There have been days when you got on my last nerve. You have sent my blood pressure higher than the Dow Jones average. At times, I've wanted to pull out my hair with one hand and wring your neck with the other.

But the rewards have been a trip to bountiful. I've popped so many buttons, I should keep a needle and thread with me at all times.

On a wall at home there are three framed sets of footprints. I can no longer keep pace with those feet. They won't stay still. You're off to theater camp. Or a job. Or a concert in Indiana. Or to Europe with a girlfriend.

I guess my job has become to throw down the anchor and be here when you return to port.

If there has been a character trait that has been constant in your lives, it is that you never forget to tell people you love them. You tell me every time you hang up the phone or walk out the door.

That's why, as my own father says, every day is Father's Day.

You are my greatest gift.

Love, Dad.