My dad's no longer with us. He was a good dad, one of the best. I still miss him. He died in 1990, far too young, only 72, and there's still hardly a day goes by that I don't think of him and wish he were here to talk with. And I'll certainly be thinking of him on Father's Day, and raising a glass of his favourite tipple and mine, 12-year old single malt scotch, in his memory.
You can never adequately thank or repay good parents for all that they are and do, to you and for you and with you and sometimes in spite of you. Best you can do is try to do as well by your own children, pay it forward. And I like to think I have. My children are all grown and gone now, and I'm very pleased with the kind of people they've turned out to be. I think I can take some credit for that. They certainly give me some, and somehow that more than makes up for all the sleepless nights, all the anxiety and fear and worry that go along with raising children.
So if your dad is still around and deserves some credit for who you turned out to be, you better let him know. He needs to know, and he'll savour the memory of you telling him for his whole life.