Give your kids a gift this Father's Day.

IMAGINE THIS: YOU PULL OPEN A DRAWER one morning and, way in the back under those paisley socks you haven't worn in about a dozen years, you find a packet of letters. You look them over, and it turns out these are letters from your dad - letters he wrote you years ago, and you somehow forgot about them. Wouldn't you stop everything, sit down on the edge of the bed, and read them, every word? I would.

Fathers, so would your kids. Americans may admire men who are the strong silent type, but they also feel the brunt of that silence. In a time when kids are bombarded by thousands of advertising messages a day, it's no time for fathers to take the Fifth. This Father's Day, do yourself and your kids a favor, and communicate on paper. You may produce words that will last a lifetime - theirs, not yours.

I hear a lot of people talk about their lives, and many (men especially) talk ruefully of the emotional emptiness they feel when they think about their fathers. They may sense love there, but also a big question mark. What did he feel? What was he thinking? What did he stand for? What did I mean to him, if anything?

What makes that pervasive sense of emptiness all the more poignant is that it's often so obvious to others that fathers have an enormous storehouse of emotion for their children. This was made abundantly clear when I attended the annual father-daughter dance at my elder daughter's school. As always, this was a fun event where proud papas spend time with their daughters. This has all the makings of a truly anachronistic occasion, but trust me, it's a delightful tradition. At one point in the evening, the DJ (whose job was to see that all of us dads made total fools of ourselves) lined up men on one side of the dance floor and our daughters on the other. The DJ challenged us to a singing contest to see whether dads or daughters could sing the loudest. This competition brought out the feistiness in the daughters, which simply melted the competitiveness of an the dads. I looked around at my fellow singers and was touched at how glowingly these men - firemen, carpenters, salesmen, and cops - looked at their daughters. They stood misty-eyed, beaming, dumbstruck with pride. I wondered how many of them would remain dumbstruck when it came to telling their daughters - and their other children at home - just how much they treasure them.

In her book The Goodness of Ordinary People (Crown Publishers Inc., 1996), Faith Middleton retells stories she has heard over the years on her popular National Public Radio program. One caller told this touchingly sad tale: "When my father died thirty-eight years ago, we were not terribly close. He was a remote man who found it difficult to express his emotions. But we had one tradition that I will always remember because it taught me a lot about overcoming fear. Something about the power of thunderstorms attracted him. Whenever there was a thunderstorm, he'd throw open the screen and stand at the window with his elbows on the windowsill and just watch. I was very excited one day when he sort of invited me to stand with him. As time went on, watching the storm and the beautiful lightning, we kind of moved a little closer to each other until our elbows were touching. We'd just stand there and watch the storm, not saying anything and I think it was the only closeness we ever really had. To this day, whenever there's a thunderstorm, I stand in the window."

Nice, but I think that dad could have done better than that. Gentlemen, find a way.

What holds us back? Is it genetic? Cultural? A missing enzyme or hormone? The momentum of history? Whatever it is, it's time to rewrite this portion of gender history, one letter at a time.

For some people, there's nothing more intimidating than a blank page. So how do you start? You can think of a quality that's special about your child. Something you admire in him or her. Think about a time you really felt joy in being his or her dad. Put it down on paper just as you would tell an understanding friend. You don't have to get flowery. Simple and straightforward is the key. You could start by writing, "I really admire the way you . . ." or "I've always enjoyed it when you . . ." or "I've always been able to count on you to . . ." or "You really made me proud the day you . . ."

Let that just be the start. Maybe there's more you want to say. Describe what it was like the day she was born. Tell how proud his grandpa was on his Baptism day. Tell how she came to have the name you gave her. Keep on writing. Tell him things you've always wanted to tell: the things you consider most important in life; what your hopes are; how family has helped you get through the good times and the bad.

You can tell her how her grandparents came to this country and what a sacrifice they made for those to come later. Describe your worst job and what it taught you about the value of persistence and education. If you live by words of wisdom, put it down on paper. This won't necessarily come easy, even to people who write for a living. Don't make too big a thing of it. This is not Shakespeare or a Pulitzer prize essay. It's just a chance to pass on a legacy to your children that no one can take away.

Well, if words absolutely won't come, don't despair. Take a half hour or 45 minutes, and go to a card shop. This time walk past the joke cards, and go to the ones that express some real sentiment. Take time to read through the cards until you find at least one that says something you feel. Purchase the card, but do more than just sign your name at the bottom. Write at least one original line, something like, "This card expresses how I feel about you," or "I hope you know I'm proud of you."

Don't worry if your child is too young. Write the letter, and store it away. It will make a good present during those early teen years when a parent's job is to be dorky and wrong. And don't use the excuse that your children don't live with you. They will always be your children; will you always be their dad?

So, this Father's Day, turn off the golf. When they ask what you want, tell them you want an hour alone. Spend that hour at the computer, kitchen table, patio chair, or at your workbench putting one word after the other telling each one of your children something you've always wanted to say but never found the time. Now is the time.

Not that they'll stop everything and read it. Most likely they'll push the note into a pocket or slide it under a comic book or video-game cartridge. But some time down the line, your child will come across that letter in the bottom of a sock drawer, put everything else aside, and read every word. Can you ask for a better Father's Day gift than that?

Some advice when writing from the heart:

* Don't compare this child to anyone else in the family. Don't even mention anyone else. * Speak for yourself. Don't say, "Mother and I . . ." * Don't offset a positive with a negative (e.g., "We all know you don't have the best temper in the world, but I like the way you make your bed," or "Even though you ruined my power drill, I'm proud you mad a touchdown against those darned Wildcats"). * Don't worry that you'll spoil them, no matter what age. * Don't worry that it will get emotional. You can take it, so can your child. * Don't worry about your spelling, grammar, punctuation, or vocabulary. Look beyond that. They will. * Don't put it off. "Now is the acceptable time,' says the Lord." Do you want your only legacy to be those old paisley socks?