Today at work, the boss wanted to know when Father's Day was.
'Easy,' I answered. 'It's nine months before Mother's Day.'
If my son is getting half as much out of university as the university is getting out of me, he'll be a success.
Father's Day was both a joy and a worry as my kids were growing up. I was always afraid they were going to give me a present that I couldn't afford.
I've got three TVs, cable and a satellite dish; I have three phone lines into the house, a cell phone and one in the car, plus a pager. I use two computers, three ISPs and a fax machine. I subscribe to two daily papers and one weekly one. I watch the news on every channel every evening. And my kids have the nerve to tell me I'm out of touch.
With divorce and remarriage so common these days, pity the poor kids. Most of them know what to buy for Father's Day they just don't know which 'Father' to give it to.
Neither of my kids ever understood my logic. Both of them failed to see why they had to go to bed when I was tired.
A friend of mine had five kids.
When the youngest finally turned 16 and was the last one left at home, my friend posted a sign on the kid's bedroom door: check-out time is 18.
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