Maybe I'll even get that new cordless drill I've been hinting at for what seems like years now.
One Father's Day a hundred years ago I got up before the sun and made my dad a cup of coffee.
It is the culmination of five days of training, instigated by my mother, to the point where I am able to make the perfect early morning wake-up coffee for my dad on what is maybe his fourth or fifth Father's Day.
It would be fair to say I'm excited as I go through the steps outlined by mum and before you know it I'm standing there beaming proudly as I watch my dad take his time, a lot of time in fact, and savour every last fluid ounce of what he calls "the best coffee in the world".
I always wondered why it took him so long to drink it all up. At the time he said nothing. Just smiled and told me how clever I was. I didn't find out till years later I'd taken the wrong container from the cupboard and made him a cup of Bisto gravy.
Over the years I've had my own "gravy" gifts.
Cards made at primary school with crayon squiggles - "That's you dad" - and things like a packet of pegs from the $2 shop. Naturally it's the thought that counts.
Having said that I've kept all the cards. Not for any mushy, sentimental reasons you understand, I mean I'm a rough, tough bloke (ahem) and we don't do that. It's really just in case someone decides in future years those indecipherable squiggles are some form of modern art and are worth a few bob.
I've also gone through the "voucher" stage too. Other dads may be familiar with it.
It's most often associated with moody teenagers who are too busy with their own lives to give a toss and who, presumably after much cajoling from mum, finally get around to doing something about a Father's Day gift the night before.
Naturally they've left it too late and everything is shut so they come up with the easy voucher that always did the trick when they were aged 8 or 9. Its a piece of A4 paper they've yanked from the printer in the computer nook as they stormed off to their bedroom. On it is hurriedly scrawled: "This voucher entitles dad to a cup of coffee and a hug".
It was cute when they were younger, less so when they are 15, but again it's the thought that counts isn't it?
I've kept all those vouchers too. I'll drag them out some time in the future and explain inflation to them.
With a bit of luck by then that cup of coffee and a hug will have ballooned into a nice bottle of wine and that cordless drill I'd always wanted.
Anyway. Fast forward 40 years or so from my coffee-making foray to another year and I'm woken from a deep sleep by the sound of my own four cherubs, these days all grown into young adults.
Momentarily I'm a little bewildered but then I remember: It's Father's Day!
I close my eyes and pretend to be asleep as the giggling girls are "shusshed" by their brothers. I'm sure you get the picture.
A wave of love and contentment sweeps over me as I lay there next to Mrs P excitedly contemplating the gifts and goodies to come.
It just doesn't get any better than this. They may be young adults but they've not forgotten about their dear old dad. Any moment now they'll be bursting through the door with a fully cooked breakfast on a tray, a nice coffee, cards and all sorts of gifts. Maybe I'll even get that new cordless drill I've been hinting at for what seems like years now.
I wait in anticipation.
And wait. And wait.
The giggling has disappeared and all now appears quiet in the house. How odd.
I open my eyes slowly, get up and tiptoe out to the kitchen to see what's occurring without spoiling their surprise.
How wrong could I have been?
By the back door is a mass of discarded shoes and on the counter is the left-over packaging from a late-night visit to Maccas. They hadn't even left me a chicken nugget.
A quick check of the clock on the microwave reveals the true story and dashes my Father's Day dreams.
It's 4am and the noise was just them all sneaking back in after a night out.
