I think I know the best way to celebrate Father’s Day.

Just look at your kids. That’s all you need to do. Look at them. Watch them. And then, look up to the heavens and thank the Lord for what you have.

Father’s Day is not our day, guys. It’s our kids’ day.

I started celebrating Father’s Day on Aug. 31, 1994. I cried like a baby. Of course, that’s what happens when your wife has one.

Three years later, I got to cry again.

Now, with a 6-year-old and a 3-year-old, this father’s life certainly seems complete.

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I realized that again the other day when my two boys went with me to South Rowan High School.

South girls basketball coach James Greene handed over a couple of jerseys. The 6-year-old gleefully ripped the Kobe jersey over his shoulders. The 3-year-old struggled with his No. 21 Timberwolves shirt but somehow got it on.

Then, Greene tossed them the basketballs. Daddy just stood there, marveling at how the 6-year old was swishing baskets with the regulation ball. Daddy laughed at how the 3-year-old simply punted the basketball around the gym but seemed just as proud of that accomplishment as his older brother’s.

“This is the best time to be a daddy,” a lady standing nearby told me. “When they’re 6 and 3, they’re adorable.

“But just wait until they’re teen-agers ...”

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Father’s Day is also a time to remember back to when you were a kid and what your father did with you.

I can never forget the baseballs being thrown all over the backyard. I won’t forget my dad standing on the sidelines with all the other daddies watching me play little league football.

But most of all, I won’t forget the cheap circus.

Did your dad ever take you to a cheap circus? It sure wasn’t Barnum &Bailey. It was the circus they’d set up in parking lots of big stores.

Now, you know a carnival’s bad when the people operating the rides are scarier than the rides themselves. I mean, when did they let Manson go?

And how exciting can a ride be when they bring it in on a pickup?

C’mon, we all went to those things. But it never really mattered, did it? We were with Dad. We were bonding.

The most incredible part of the cheap circus was the sideshows. Dad had to fork over a dollar for each of us to enjoy such acts as “Huge midgets.” The ringmaster would warm up the crowd.

“That’s right, ladies and gentlemen, they range from 5-8 to 6-2, the world’s largest midgets...”

I looked up on stage and there were regular-sized guys waving at everyone.

“Hey dad, we’re getting ripped off,” I cried. “Let’s get outta here!”

We walked to another part of the tent and paid to enjoy the invisible mute.

Nothing. We stared at nothing for 20 minutes. And, naturally, listened to the ringmaster.

“He’s mute and he’s invisible. What are the odds ...!”

“Hey, Dad, you’re not buying into any of this, are ya?”

We paid a buck to see the first stripeless zebra.

“Dad, it’s a horse! It’s a dadblame horse! We’re getting ripped off again.”

We went to a tent where they asked for volunteers from the audience for the trapeze act. Rumors were that all of the acrobats had fallen to their death on the first night.

Dead acrobats? Geez, what kind of a memory is that for a kid?

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Ah yes, good times and good laughs with your Dad.

Until you have kids of your own and are on the other side, it’s hard to fathom what Father’s Day means.

So for all of you guys with no kids, here’s an example.

My anniversary is in a couple of weeks. It’s one of the biggies. Ten years. So, the better half and I began making plans recently: Let’s go somewhere without the kids. Let’s do something special. We’ve got the dough.

Cancun? The Bahamas?

Nope. We finally concluded that it would be better if we didn’t spend a lot of money on the anniversary trip and saved it to take the kids somewhere like Disney World.

Decisions like that let you know why Father’s Day is really Kids’ Day.

And why it’s a great day.

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Well, it’s time for breakfast. So I’m going to start celebrating Father’s Day right now. I’m going to watch the boys eat their Fruit Loops.

That’s all. Just watch them. Proudly watch them.

You dads know what I’m talking about, right?

Thanks, 6-year-old. Thanks, 3-year-old. And thank you too, Mom. Seeing all three of you healthy, happy and smiling has made this another Father’s Day to remember.

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Contact father Ronnie Gallagher at 704-797-4256 or rgallagher@salisburypost.com .