ON DADHOOD: I've been thinking a lot about fathers and fatherhood of late, which is appropriate since Father's Day is just around the corner.

In a perfect world (or in a major magazine that paid me to do so) I'd write a coherent essay about fatherhood, the various aspects of it that have been swirling around in my brain. But this world is not perfect, I'm sad to report, and so I'll just write aimlessly here on my blog.

(Sigh.)

I saw Moises Alou, he of hand-peeing fame, hit a walk-off home run to beat his father Felipe's S.F. Giants last night. I saw it in-person from nine rows behind the Giants' dugout, thanks to a very good pal with great tickets. Wow, I thought afterwards. Felipe Alou changed pitchers to try and beat his son. He obviously spent time with the new pitcher discussing how best to beat Moises, which weaknesses to exploit. And still, on this night, the son not only bested the father, but he did it in dramatic fashion, the ultimate "You are not the boss of me" blast slicing the night and sending a packed house spilling into the beer gardens of Wrigleyville. How cool for Moises! And, I wondered, is it really so terrible for Felipe to see his son deliver such a heart-stopping, heroic performance? Nah. Can't be. Somewhere, deep inside perhaps, Felipe Alou was beaming. Had to be! (And Moises had to feel a tinge of sadness, too.)

(Holy crap! As I type this Moises has just swatted another one in today's game, tying it up in the seventh inning! Moises!)

What else? I've been thinking back on an overlooked novel I loved, Jonathan Dee's THE LIBERTY CAMPAIGN, in which a father-son subplot lends poignance to a wonderful story about self-knowledge and male friendships. Great book, and I ought to read it again.

And more...

I thought last night about things my father has given me, the many interests and ideas he's sparked in me and that I've carried on...my love for the city of Chicago, its Cubs and Bears...of mystery novels and reading...my simple personal fashion aesthetic, where navy blue and khaki begin and end my color palette...my desire to coach my son's teams and to be present for his athletic triumphs and travails, ala Moises and Felipe...

And then I get to wondering what part of me will filter through to my son...what will stick...

I could write a million words and (hopefully) never say it any clearer than this: Fatherhood -- parenthood -- has added an extra dimension to my life, a richness that I can't imagine how I ever lived without.

So that's what I've been thinking.