What do you get a man who has everything? The million-dollar question stares us kids in the face as Father's Day looms imminent on the calendar.

Finding gifts for a dad at Christmas or on his birthday is hard enough—then the holiday-makers in their

wisdom throw in yet another festive occasion. You can only buy so many soaps-on-a-rope and ties before the shower gets cluttered and the closet congests.

How about something homemade? Although Father's Day officially originated in 1910 in the U.S., history suggests nearly 4,000 years ago a young Babylonian named Elmesu started the whole "make-your-father-a-shaving-cup-out-of-Play-Doh" tradition when he carved a message in clay to wish his father good health and a long life.

I am one of the lucky ones to have a loving father—I've had more than an inkling of that fact all along, but now that I'm an adult I've sifted through the sands of memory to gather a few observations. To solve my gift-giving dilemma, I figure a little reflection on the gifts my own dad has given me might spawn some ideas.

My father was raised in a different era—children were seen and not heard, and saying "I love you" just wasn't done. Dad however, strayed from the mold—not only was it implied that we were loved, he told us—that was a gift.

Every time his roar broke the sound barrier as I balked at the imposed slavery known as "doing the dishes" or "vacuuming the floor," he was giving the gift of pride in a job well done. When he gathered my brothers and me around to read a story from his favourite childhood tome, he gave us the gift of gentleness.

When he bought me my first makeup kit, independent of my mother's knowledge, for my 13th Christmas, he gave the gift of independence. The gift of sacrifice shone through the 20 years he spent driving the same transit bus on the same route day after weary day or in the multiple times he hauled me and my junk across the country as I moved from province to province.

His gift of love is evident in the bear hugs when I return after being away for a while, or when he tried to hide the mist in his eyes as we danced at my high school graduation. He made me wait until I was nearly 18 to obtain my coveted driver's licence, but in the process I received the gift of patience.

The gifts of hard work, dedication and joy in giving were wrapped up as he built us a playhouse and a toy box and snow forts and my very own room.

When he brought my mother handpicked wildflowers from the back field and gave them to her in front of us kids, we received the gift of loving commitment. When we saw his big black King James Bible open on the table or had rousing discussions after church, he gave us the gift of faith.

Now that I'm an adult and living far from my childhood home, I realize that Dad's gifts—and I suspect those of many other dads and father-figures out there—are treasures that nothing (not even a box of his favourite jelly candies) could begin to compare.

But maybe it's not about comparison and more about an ongoing commitment to recognize what our dads have done for us. And really, it's a commandment as well. "Honour your father and your mother" is sandwiched right in there between "Keep the Sabbath" and "Do not murder."

So, this Father's Day, let me be the first to say it. For all the gifts you've given your children, dads, intentionally or not—we remember and we thank you.

Now where's the Play Doh? I have a gift to make.

Kelly Henschel is the managing editor for ChristianWeek. She doesn't buy her father soap-on-a-rope or ties, but thinks he's pretty special and deserves many boxes of jelly candies.