Today is Father's Day.  A day of cologne.  A day of hugs, new neckties, long-distance phone calls, and Hallmark cards.

Today is my first Father's Day without a father.  For thirty-one years I had one.  I had one of the best.  But now he's gone.  He's buried under an oak tree in a west Texas cemetery.  Even though he's gone, his presence is very near--especially today.

It seems strange that he isn't here.  I guess that's because he was never gone.  He was always close by.  Always available.  Always present.  His words were nothing novel.  His achievements, though admirable, were nothing extraordinary.

But his presence was.

Like a warm fireplace in a large house, he was a source of comfort.  Like a sturdy porch swing or a big-branched elm in the backyard, he could always be found...and l…