As I write this there is some doubt in my mind whether Father's Day was last Sunday or whether it will be next Sunday. This could be solved by looking in today's paper to see if the stores are still telling my family that there is nothing in the world I want so much as some underwear that will flatter my torso. However, there is an even simpler way to discover whether we fathers have been honored or are just about to be. After awhile I shall screw up the courage to look at my necktie. If I find that it should be singing bass in the Cossack Choir, then I shall know that Father's Day has come and gone, leaving me in its wake. I suppose that Father's Day is a good idea, though there seems something pretty pointed in the fact that no one thought of putting a red mark on the calendar for the Old Man until long after there had been a Mother's Day, an Arbor Day, a Labor Day, and a Ground Hog Day. Since I am a father myself it might appear immodest were I to suggest