On a Thursday in late November 1969, Father's Day changed for me. I sat in a hospital delivery room and waited for my first son to enter the world. My own father sat with me and quietly kept me calm by saying the things he knew I was worried about.

Dad and I never made too much of our special day. I would call him and talk a bit; but we did that almost every day anyway. My own children seemed to sense the low key approach to Father's Day and knew a simple acknowledgement was sufficient.

For thirty three years things remained the same. Then, in early November 2003, Father's Day for me changed once again. When my father passed away, I was sad, but I also knew what a lucky man I had been.

No longer having a father to call was offset by the time we had together. For over three decades we were best friends. He quietly guided me through life as an adult by the example he lived. I wouldn't trade my time with him for anything.

He left this world miles ahead of most and there were few disagreements between us. We had a full, rich relationship. I still think about something I need to tell him the next time we talk, and I don't miss him any more on Father's Day than the first day of football season.

This year, my grandson graduated from high school in June, so I went north to congratulate him. After all the plans were made, I realized it would also be Fathers Day weekend. I was excited at the possibility of an eventful Father's Day.

I set out early Thursday morning, alone with my thoughts except for a CD changer full of Van Morrison. I had an easy, uneventful trip, if any nine hour journey on an interstate full of truckers can be called uneventful.

I congratulated the graduate and then settled into a laid back weekend of golf, television, and libations. Shane and I don't agree on everything but let nothing get between us. We have a similar relationship to the one I had with my father.

US Open Golf and the College World Series was bracketed by a Father- Son tournament at Shane's golf club. I even got to actually talk with my grandson. It was a perfect weekend. For the first time, I felt like the patriarch of our family.

By nine am on Sunday, I had put three states behind me and talked to 67 percent of my children. With Tom Waits in the sound system, I let auto pilot take me home and spent a lot of time thinking about George Cox.

I am now the age he was when he retired. My children are simultaneously further away and closer than ever before and I feel more like a grandfather and less like a son each day.

For the first time in a really long time, I wanted to talk to him; to tell him what a great weekend I had and how I wished he had been there with us. And to tell him thanks one more time.