As Father’s Day approaches, unwrap these handy tips

Lots OF YOUNG FATHERS turn here for advice. They learn important survival secrets. Like, when your kid is wearing a red shirt, order the cherry-flavored snow cone. Purple shirt? Grape. Where else do you find this kind of important advice? Not on those stuffy op-ed pages, that’s for sure.

Also, young fathers should always carry a handkerchief. If you don’t, be assured that -- just as you enter the theater carrying 30 bucks’ worth of popcorn -- one of your kids will get a nosebleed.

So, carry a handkerchief. In a pinch, you can use it as a mask to rob banks or stage coaches. Or to dry your wife’s tears, of which there will be many. Trust me. It’s a long life.

Other tips? Well, I’m a big believer in Velcro shoes for myself as well as the children. If given the chance, I would wear Velcro shirts and Velcro pants. Better, faster, more stylish. Think George Jetson. Think Capt. Kirk.

I also like Velcro because it never knots. If I could have all the years back that I spent unknotting kids’ shoes, I’d be 23. I’d be single. I’d never date, in hopes of staying single. I’d climb up into one of those fire lookout towers with 1,000 books and never come down.

OK, on Friday nights, I’d probably come down. Sooner or later, I’d meet someone nice. She’d turn suddenly and I’d get a whiff of her hair. Later, in the lookout tower, I’d find myself thinking of her while reading some Cheever piece about life in the suburbs. We’d marry. Have 40 kids. Buy Velcro shoes.

That’s sort of how life works. For many men, fatherhood is inevitable. Thank God for that, or none of us would be here. So let us pause a moment to honor fatherhood. The best ‘hood in town.

IN THE KITCHEN, THEY ARE

making tapioca pudding. It’s 9 on a Sunday morning. An excellent time to be thinking of dessert.

“These egg whites aren’t fluffing,” the lovely and patient older daughter complains.

“A little yolk probably got in,” my wife explains.

“Just add more egg whites,” I suggest.

They look at me as if I just suggested that Brad Pitt used to be a Laker Girl. That water used to be wine.

“If you have even a little yolk, they won’t fluff,” my wife explains. “Basic chemistry.”

“Those crazy chickens,” I mutter and turn back to the Sports page.

My wife and daughters stand over the egg whites, trying to come up with a solution. They seem stumped. Basic chemistry can do that to you.

“Maybe if you ... “ I start to suggest.

“Mom will figure it out,” the older daughter insists.

“Won’t you, Mom?” the little girl asks.

“Maybe,” she says.

From her, the kids got their brains; from me, their brawn. Thankfully. The other way around, we would now have a bevy of not-very-bright children with no biceps. The world already has enough of those. Ever met an actor? I rest my case.

LATER, OVER AT MY BUDDY Hank’s house, I find him preparing steps for the new porch. Hank lives life like it’s a Sinatra song. Each weekend, another love.

“Like my new porch?” he asks.

“What was wrong with the old one?”

“Too small,” he says.

God bless Hank, with the house on the corner that -- like the rest of ours -- always needs a little weekend work. In the last few weeks, Hank has also replaced the windows and sandblasted the exterior. Now, his wife is filling nail holes in the woodwork, a big smear of Spackle on her slender thumb.

“Come on in,” Hank says.

Minutes later, we are measuring baseboard. He measures twice. I measure twice. The older you get, the more you measure.

“What’d you get?” he asks.

“10 3/8,” I say. “You?”

“10 1/4,” Hank says.

So we measure again, then miter-cut the baseboard.

“Perfect,” Hank says as he sets the piece into the wall.

“Let’s do the next one,” I say.

We finish the baseboard, then sit on the lawn drinking beer, admiring the way the new steps pyramid up to the porch.

“From the curb, it looks a little like an Aztec war shrine,” I say.

“Next, I’m going to cut a new door to the basement,” Hank says.

“Need some help?”

“Sure,” he says.

That’s fatherhood for you. Hank’s life, like mine, is filled with chores that are never finished. Careers that never end. Trust me. It’s a long life.

So, Daddy-O, want a few more tips to get you through those next 20 years?

* When the diaper droops, it’s probably wet.

* When boys call for your daughter, just hang up.

* Low on gift wrap? Use the Sunday comics.

You could always use a little laugh, right? Basic chemistry.

Chris Erskine can be reached at [email protected].