I wasn't one of the lucky ones who had a father around all the time when I was growing up.
I grew up in foster homes, finally having the good fortune to land in the home of a couple who I came to love as much as any biological parents.
My real father was the black sheep of the family. I saw him every seven years or so, when he'd stop by and drop off another new bike. But after my grandfather passed away, he taught me a lesson that has stuck with me for years.