This evening, after church, Kevin and I went on a road trip to the beach.

The trip started when the three of us went on our post-Sunday evening service hunt for food and decided to get wings. It was a bit out of the way but being tired of the typical ‘cheese and burger’ meals (even when asked what he wanted, Kevin replied “I don’t know”) or burritos, it seemed like a good alternative.

Today was a really long Sunday for me...I was probably on my feet for about 11 hours in my dress shoes (which are in need of replacement). So Teri volunteered to get the wings. While she went inside, I asked Kevin if he would like to come up front and ‘drive’. He really enjoys sitting in the drivers seat pretending to drive so he jumped at the chance.

I had pulled in and, before getting him out of the car seat, turned the car around so that we were looking into the parking lot rather than a bush which makes for more interesting driving. He climbed forward and began pushing buttons, turning knobs and all the usual that goes with his driving.

Looking to the left, I realized there was no one in the parking lot that led around to the back, there were no intersections and being late on Sunday night, likely to be no one coming that way. So I put the car in drive and let the two of us creep back toward the dumpsters and rear of the stores. That’s when he decided we were going to the beach.

We arrived at a dead end which was declared ‘the beach’. It was dark and there was no water with only a bunch of scraggly trees - just like every beach you’ve been to. We turned around, which he wasn’t to happy about, then drove back to the parking spot. Once there, the moonroof needed to be open since we were driving to the beach.

Then, he climbed into the passenger’s side, declared that I was to be the daddy and he would be the mommy. As we pretended to go on to the beach, he turned around and let the kids know we were almost there. I asked how many kids we had and it turned out a trip to the beach must have been needed. We have four.

Letting kids drive, even when you are in the seat isn’t the safest thing to do, but being a parent is sometimes about measuring risk vs. reward. The risk to Kevin was near zero, but the memory and enjoyment would be high. As parents, we’re charged with keeping our kids safe, but to do so, we also need to build trust and a strong relationship. Sometimes bending on the little things makes it easier to stand firm on the bigger issues.

I spread my arms wide and roar. Ian scrunches his shoulders and giggles, “No, dragon!” He takes my hand and pulls me toward the jungle-gym.

He pushes me up the stairs, to the top of the slides. “That slide, dragon. Go! Go! Go, dragon!” Ian sits on the slide next to mine, and grunts as he tries to shove me. I grin and we both slide, side-by-side. My feet catch me at the bottom. Ian’s weight carries him over the edge and he lands in a pile of laughs. He stands, trips, stands to his feet. “Again, dragon! Again!”

Later, Ian sits in the woodchips covering the playground, takes a handful and pretends to eat. He grabs another handful and turns toward me. “Dragon food! Eat! Food, dragon!” Well, something has to keep my fire going.

Ian isn’t satisfied with our little picnic so he moves us to the gazebo where he loads the park-bench ‘tables’ with sticks, leaves and an ever-fresh supply of woodchips. I have no idea what he sees but it looks delicious.

Ian tells me that he’s going to get a soda. “Wait here” he tells me. He walks three feet, turns and says, “Stay there” this time with the added emphasis of a waggling finger. Chagrined, I say, “Okay, okay” and am delighted when Ian hands me a stickfull of coffee.

I remember having an imagination. I remember riding my bicycle around an abandonded schoolyard, chasing secret agents and knights...or running from them. I remember the sense of urgency I felt when my friends and I built a fort of new-fallen snow, our hands shaking, not with cold, but with fright. “Hurry, hurry! They’re almost here!” There was always an army of fanged and hairy ‘somethings’ just on the horizon.

But now I’m quite sure that I don’t know any secret agents and the only fanged creature I’ve seen lately is our cat, Neville, who’s afraid of his own tail. Ian offers me a cup of steaming coffee and I receive a handful of wood and dirt.

When did I learn that I was pretending? How can I forget?

One of the most important things as a father is to try and be the best man possible to your children. We attempt to spread our wisdom and love through what we say and how we say things, and not always simply through our every day actions. There is no better way to show your love and appreciation than through what you do and how you act in life.

I think back to when I was a child and reflect on my impressions of my father and I see a man who spread love to his children through what he did. Admit it, dad’s are not always good with words and expressing vocally our “feelings”. When I was in school I used to play baseball, soccer, alpine and cross-country skiing for the team. My father used to be at every single event or game I ever played in. As a child you sort of take those things for granted but now I see that he was not just there, but he was engrained into my childhood.

I remember one moment when I had a cross-country ski race and I was getting ready to start. It was so cold and windy and I swear I wasn’t going to make it around the ski course alive. My father jumped up behind me from out of nowhere and said in a low voice, “Cold out isn’t it?”. Then he got down onto one knee and proceeded to warm my legs by rubbing his hands up and down them trying to get the blood flowing. He never spoke a word. He then moved to my arms and my fingers. By the time he was done I was so warm and ready to race. I said thanks and he jumped back behind the ropes where spectators were supposed to stand.

Those are the moments I remember most of my father and not necessarily the words he tried drilling into me. So I try to show my love through who I am and what I do. I see people taking their children to the park with a cell phone stuck to their ear, going through the motions as if they are mimicking that “good ol” dad taking them out to play. It isn’t where you take your children and how long you spend time there. You aren’t going to be a better dad if you spend an extra hour at the park than if you come home early. As a child I was standing out in the middle of a snow filled field, temperatures below freezing, wind gusting against my face, and confident I wasn’t going to make it and yet I remember my father’s face, and his love for me.

As a stay at home dad of 4 children, I understand the moments will come and go but my love will stand strong in all that we do. I feel fortunate that I can spend each and every day with them and show them my true love, that once was shown to me by my own father. It is my goal as a father to show them what my father once showed me.

“It takes a man to be a dad”.

I’m sure you’ve heard that concluding tagline in some great Public Service Announcements aired on television by The Ad Council and the National Fatherhood Initiative promoting the importance of involved fatherhood.

One of my favorites shows a father “letting loose” in a living room dance routine with his elementary school-aged daughter.

“It takes a man to be a dad”.

Those words echoed in my head like church chimes on September 24. That’s the day I visited the TicketMaster website and, with one final click of the mouse, ordered three tickets for my family to see The Wiggles in Greenville, SC on Friday, November 18.

Never in my life had I been to a concert. I came of age back in “the day” rockin’ to great groups like Boston, Journey, 38-Special, Foreigner, Bon Jovi and Van Halen when David Lee Roth was still the front man. Their albums held a prominent place in my musical collection and I could sing along to their classic songs without missing a word. Yet not once did I experience the thrill of a live show as had so many of my friends.

So here I was, at the age of 42, standing outside a huge venue in a chilly wind and methodically inching my way to a ticket receiver standing at the front door. Once inside, we waded through a thick soup of humanity until finally finding our section, then our row and then our assigned seats. Soon after, the lights dimmed and everyone erupted with applause as our fab four – Anthony, Murray, Jeff and Sam – bounded onto the stage. They worked the crowd into a frenzy with favorites like “Big Red Car”, “Fruit Salad”, “Hot Potato” and the ever popular “Zing Zang Wing Wang Wong”. Eliana jumped up and down and laughed and sang like so many other children.

I couldn’t help but smile when I realized that I was attending my first concert with my daughter.

It’s a very silly game, really.  In fact it borders on the totally ridiculous.  But we’ve all played it.  First with our grandfathers and fathers, and now, with our own children.  No, I’m not talking about “Pull My Finger.” (That’s also a classic, but I’ve been forbidden to play that game with my daughters.) I’m talking about “Got Your Nose!” Even as a kid I thought it was silly.  Pop Pop would put his thumb between his first two fingers and show it to me as proof that he had taken my nose hostage.  It was silly, I tell you, just plain silly.  But I loved it, and was always ready to play.

Now it’s my turn to be thief of noses.  Only my precocious little 3-year-old has decided to add her own twist to a family tradition.  Her contributions include:

“Your nose is so big I need TWO hands!” and

“It’s dirty; I need to clean it first (rubbing ‘it’ against her shirt).”

The other day she decided not to give me my nose back.  “Give me back my nose,” I protested, using my best no-nose voice.  Laughing, she refused.  I decided to fight fire with fire, and took her nose instead.  Putting her nose on my face, I used my silly voice and said “Hi, I’m Natasha.  I like to play princess!”

Laughing wholeheartedly, Natasha proceeded to try on my nose, exclaiming in her silly voice, “Hi, I’m Daddy.  I love my family!”

If there were a drug that could make you feel the way I did in that moment, I’d be an addict.  Children’s thoughts and feelings often come out through play.  Can this really mean that I’ve done something right; that I tell her and show her on a regular basis, in a way that sinks in, how dedicated I am to my wife and daughters?

In years to come my girls will undoubtedly parody me on several fronts:  the way I dance, the way I dress, and the tone and words I use in reprimands.  But right now the first thing that comes into Natasha’s mind when imitating her dad is “I love my family!”

Go ahead.  Mock me all you want!