Will you give your father a hug on Sunday? It's Father's Day … and he probably doesn't need a new sweater, although a box of Titleist golf balls might be nice.

But a hug is always appreciated.

Someday he will be gone, not on a trip, but gone for good. Then it will be too late for the hug. While he may not miss it, you will. I know I do.

It has been half a century since my dad went away.

If I shut my eyes, I can remember being a boy and hearing him tell me things like: “If it isn't yours, don't touch it.” Or, “Never hit a woman. No matter what the reason, if you hit a woman, you are in the wrong. Always.”

When I was about 11, I thought this little man with the bald head was kind of a wuss. After all, he was not a big strong guy, a football type guy.

One day, he proved me wrong. Our garage door was propped open with a three-foot tall concrete pipe. It was summer and this pipe started to smell. In a few days, it really started to smell.

On Saturday, I told Dad about the odor and he suggested we go out back and check it out.

It took one peek into the pipe to see an animal, an opossum, had climbed into the pipe, got stuck and died.

It was nasty; the stinkiest, grossest thing I had ever seen. One sniff, and I was ready to throw up.

And what did this little bald man do? This little man who I thought was a kind of wuss?

He just grabbed a shovel, walked to the back of the garden and dug a hole. Then he tipped over the concrete pipe and scooped up what was left of Mr. Possum. Into the hole went what was left of the critter, and Dad covered him up.

“Wow,” I thought to myself. “That took a lot of courage.”

Not so, explained Dad. “I was raised on a farm and dead animals were a common problem. “Believe me, a dead possum is a lot easier to deal with than a dead cow,” he said.

“You have to dig a big hole for a cow.”

Today, when confronted with a problem, I often remember him saying: “Let's think about that one. I wonder what would happen if we did this, or that.”  

Then he would quietly scroll through possible solutions and try to get me to think of possible outcomes before making a final decision.

Each July 4, our family would gather in the backyard under the big wild cherry tree for a picnic.  

Before we tore into the watermelon and hot dogs, he would have us take turns reading the Declaration of Independence. He said it was important to remember what July 4 was all about.

He wanted us to remember it was not about cold watermelon or even fireworks.  

I think Dad was a republican, but I am not sure of that. I remember him telling me it does not matter if you are a republican or a democrat.

The point is to be involved with your party on a local level. That is what makes our system of government work, he explained.

On election day, he would bring into the voting booth and show me how the process worked. We would talk about candidates.

I remember he favored Dwight Eisenhower and how he smiled when he came home and found me walking around with buttons that said “I Like Ike,” and “Ike and Dick (Nixon) are sure to click.”

Later, when I was I college and he was fighting cancer, I came home and told him how sorry I was that he was ill.

He smiled and said he was dying. Dying was part of life, he said. Then he ordered me not to spend a lot of money on his funeral.

“If you spend a lot of money on me, I will come back to haunt you,” he said with a grin.

Then he got serious. “Remember. Always be good to your mother,” he said. “If you get married, be good to your wife and your kids.”

That was more than 50 years ago. I wanted to give him a hug that day, but he was very weak and in bed, so I did not. I wish I had.

If you are able to visit your dad this Father's Day, be sure to give him a hug. You won't regret it. Neither will he.