I woke up, did the daily routine: shower, coffee, etc., came into the office and was all ready to sit down and write about a sex survey in Glamour Magazine. It was really ridiculous anyway so when something swayed me to change the idea, I wasn’t really all that upset.

I sat down at my desk and read something that made me think of my father. I won’t go into detail about it because it was one of those things that no one outside my family would get.

In any case, I thought of my dad. How many times a day do you think of your parents? OK, how many times a week, a month? Oh come on, don’t you think your parents are worth more than that?

Let’s see, there are birthdays, Father’s Day, Mother’s Day, the ever-popular December holiday and last but certainly not least, times of the echoing wallet.

I began to think of all those hilarious family stories everyone has and got real thankful for every day of my life that I spent with my father. Yes, even the bad ones.

No, it’s not Father’s Day. And I know no one will believe this one, but I don’t even need money.

But after thinking about all the junk parents have to put up with from sometimes senseless children, we ought to be able to acknowledge them more than we do.

Here’s a classic example. I forgot my dad’s birthday a while ago. The funny thing is, I have one dad. He has nine kids. He remembered my birthday when he has nine to remember, yet I forgot my only father’s birthday.

And here’s the kicker, he wasn’t put out in the least. All he said was, “That’s alright. Don’t worry about it, I know you’re busy.

I thought about how long it takes for sons and daughters to realize the importance and significance of parents.

It’s like the joke: How come when you’re living at home when your parents don’t know anything and you are always right? But the day you move out, all of a sudden parents are the most intelligent creatures on earth. How does that happen?

It seems we don’t appreciate what we’ve got until… um, the grass is always greener… nah. You know, I just can’t bring myself to complete a sentence quite so clicheish.

Oops, is that a word? Since this is my column, “clicheish” is now a word.

Anyway, getting back to my dad, he must not be too bad if he turned out a kid like me, right? Of course, I do have my faults like burping, swearing and getting into trouble with my big mouth. But that’s not his fault. I get it from my sisters. It’s a female thing in my family.

And there are eight more just like me. Wow, my dad? Incredible. He raised nine—uh, uh—nine fine, young children with healthy lungs. You see when you have so many people in one immediate family, you have to expand your lungs to be heard by everyone when you talk.

Times of playing baseball in the park, football in my living room with my brother (and dad as referee), going to the horse races and rides on my dad’s milk truck came to mind as childhood memories often do.

Some things cannot be brought back, however some things never change. Like road trips to Wisconsin and my dad’s great “grandpa burgers” (as my nieces and nephews call them). They’re the best grilled burgers around.

No more is it baseball in the park or football in the living room, but lunch once in a while and an occassional phone call.

As time goes by it seems I see him less and less but the memories will never fade.

If you think real hard, I’m sure you would agree. There are loads of memories which involve your parents and most of them good.

Give your parents a call, or write them a letter. They’ll be astonished to hear from you when it’s not a holiday or you don’t need anything. Not only that, they deserve more than a Hallmark card on a holiday. No, don’t send a Hallmark. When you care enough to send the very best—send your love.