In the opening scene of "Fiddler On The Roof," the embattled dairyman, Tevye, fantasizes about being a wealthy man whose advice is sought by "the most important men in town," whereupon he sings this profound disclaimer: "And it won't make one bit of difference if I answer right or wrong; when you're rich, they think you really know."

Similarly, since I became a father, nearabout six decades ago, there is a presumption that I have acquired a substantial measure of expertise regarding that occupation.

Truth to tell, I have acquired an abundance of experience over the years, but only some of it has resulted in expertise.

As in all other facets of life, good judgment in fatherhood is often the result of experience, which is also often the result of bad judgment and/or kismet and/or the guidance of others.

While American society forbade me to drive an automobile or sell real estate without a license, among other things, I was technically qualified to become a father about concurrently with the onset of acne and the divine urge.

The widely revered status of fatherhood is, at its core, no more lofty among us humans than among gerbils and junk yard dogs.

Father's Day, therefore, does not lionize men whose contribution of sperm constitutes their major - sometimes sole - involvement in the life that results therefrom.

Over these many years, after many ties (both neckworn and developed) and many mushy greeting cards, I've come to an understanding of what it means to be a father, and of the fact that it is a goal, rather than an automatic title.

When the first of our eight begats made his presence known through mood swings, and morning sickness, I was ill-prepared for what was to come, and I look back on the subsequent comings with a sense of profound disbelief that they were doable.

Only now, with a third generation springing forth, am I beginning to realize that the fullness of my job description is following, rather than having preceded, its performance.

It is a job description that would daunt Superman, all the saints in heaven, and even someone with a Limbaugh-sized ego.

I offer the following as a guideline to all the guys honored on the third Sunday of this (and every subsequent) June - not as a challenge, but as a behavioral road map to be followed as closely as possible (and to be rediscovered when they have taken a temporary detour).

- A father should always be "there" whenever needed by any of his children, and be out of the way at all other times.
- He should never make a promise that he doesn't intend to keep, or a threat with which he is unlikely to follow through.
- He should listen to them, insofar as it's possible for him to do so, with the same rapt attention, interest and patience that he observes when they are talking to their mother.
- He should understand that they are different and try to respect their right to be wrong at times, and to sound off, even when he rightfully disagrees.
- He should be aware of, and fulfill their needs, including hugs, laughs, praise, encouragement, help, support, trust, loyalty, respect, and good example, as needed.
- He should be brave, fearless, invincible, all-wise, and never in doubt - OR able to fake these virtues when the occasion demands it.
- He should instill and nourish in them a good self-image, a gift of greater value than any other. (Believe in them, especially when they do not!)
- He should apologize when he is wrong, but stand fast when he's right (parenting is neither a popularity contest, nor a beauty pageant).
- He should teach them to respect legitimate authority, while recognizing that those possessing it are, like their own parents, and idolized role models, subject to human fallibility, and weaknesses.
- He should, above all, never let them doubt that he loves them - that is to say that he cares greatly about their happiness.

I append to these words a full confession that the ideal father described herein far from accurately describes the one better known to the author's begats, to whom I offer my heartfelt gratitude for the many flaws they have forgiven, forgotten, failed to notice and/or are just too kind to recall on the third Sundays of June.

The bottom line of all this is that becoming a father is a slam-dunk achievement; really being one is, arguably, an unreachable goal.