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Father's Day crept up on me this year. I actually thought it was next Sunday until about four days ago. That means my Father's Day cards went out late. I'm not too worried about my brother or brothers-in-law getting their holiday greetings late.

However, one wish needed to get out on time -- the one that creates guilt if the message is not conveyed in a punctual manner. So, to remedy the problem, I thought it best to wish one father a Happy Father's Day right here, right now.

Of course, that special guy, the dude who rules, is my own dad. He is half the reason I exist. He is half of the team that taught me everything I needed to know to make it in this life.

Dad got up early each day and drove to work, rarely taking sick leave or vacation time, to provide for his family. He made sure we had insurance and enough money to pay the bills. He saved and invested money for our future. He provided for much of the stability of my childhood -- the stability that my siblings and I blissfully and naively had the good fortune to take for granted.

Years later, over plates of grilled food and potato salad, I learned just how difficult it was for Dad. For a while, he had to work second shift. We were supposed to be quiet while Dad slept -- not an easy task for energetic preschoolers. There were many mornings Dad chose to forgo sleep and play with us.

There were times he had to get along with difficult people in the workplace because he had a family. There were times he would have preferred to quit and move on, but he had to consider the mortgage, health insurance and a pension. So, he stuck it out.

On Saturday mornings, Dad was up bright and early. He changed the oil on his economical cars. He mowed grass and trimmed bushes. He fixed plumbing and changed lightbulbs. When we outgrew our house, he built two more bedrooms and a second bathroom.

Dad was the ultimate do-it-yourselfer. He researched how to fix and build things long before the acronym, home improvement superstores and dedicated cable shows became popular. He still has the same tool box and many of the same tools -- though he has added to his collection through the years.

Many times Dad had to be the "bad guy." He was the one who said, "No, you can't have that." It was never because he didn't want us to have everything. It was because he was teaching us, through example, to be responsible with our money and to live within our means.

When we reached the age of 16, we were no longer eligible for allowance. We had to go out into the world -- after school, of course -- and "Get a JOB!" We had to save money for a "rainy day," buy our own luxuries like designer jeans -- he was more than willing to buy us generic clothing on sale -- maintain checking accounts of our own and complete and file our own tax returns.

Now, as I struggle with teaching my own teenagers the value of a dollar and how to live responsibly, I can see that Dad did, in fact, give his children everything. His definition of everything was simply different than the norm.

He provided for us, but did not spoil us. He gave us integrity. He gave us a solid and dependable work ethic. He gave us morals and standards for being good, productive citizens. He gave us commitment and dedication. He taught us to be frugal and practical. And while he had many words of wisdom that reinforced these precious gifts, it was his actions that had the greatest impact.

Now that Dad is securely and happily retired, he continues to give to my children. He encourages and supports their wide-ranging and ever-changing interests, helping to uncover and grow hidden talents. He gives them money for special occasions, but only under the condition that some of it be deposited into a savings account.

And now that he and Mom are in a new house, he thought it would be a good idea to put up a basketball goal in the driveway for the boys -- but they must help build it.

Dad, I'm so sorry your card will arrive late. It says that I am so glad that you are my dad. It says thanks for giving me everything. I will forever cherish everything, and work hard to pass everything down to your grandchildren, and then to my grandchildren. Happy Father's Day.

Micki Bare is a columnist for the Arkansas News Bureau and the Courier-Tribune in Asheboro, N.C., and author of the book, "Relative Expressions." She lives in Asheboro with her husband and three children. Her e-mail address is mickibare@inspiredscribe.com.