Folks, like my Father's Day gift, this column is a little late.
To be honest, Father's Day's popularity around here slots roughly below the Chinese New Year and our dog's birthday.
Anyway, for some reason, this year's Father's Day was slightly overshadowed by our eldest daughter's wedding, so I wasn't expecting a major celebration. Perhaps a small gathering of up to 50 people, some cake and several unopened bottles of booze. Nothing too outrageous. What I got was a packet of chocolate-coated sultanas.
While it was better than nothing, it did fall slightly below my expectations.
I was earnestly informed that a postal delay was the reason for the lack of gifts adorning my bedspread that sunny Sunday morning.
Then last weekend I returned home to find a small package on the kitchen table with a note attached to it: Don't Break These Dad! Inside were two small glass mugs.
In a column I wrote recently, I covered the heartbreak I'd experienced trying to replace my favourite $2.50 glass drinking mug after it had been broken by some boozy idiot. Basically, I'd given up my quest.
My daughters had replaced my favourite drinking mug; twice!
I don't know where they'd found them, or how much they paid, but it was such a thoughtful gift I immediately wondered if I should lock them safely away in the cupboard; the glasses, not my daughters.
Because the chances are high these new family heirlooms will also wind up smashed, probably by me, again.
But I'll risk using them, as every sip I take out of those cheap cups will be tinged with the taste of gratitude.
It really is the thought that counts, no matter how late it is.