Wright was bursting with a surprise when he arrived Thursday afternoon with his mother and two sisters.

The Deas were putting in an early Father's Day appearance, bearing gifts which were in a box in the middle of the living room when I arrived from work.

"Dad," Mary Grace said, "You've got a choice of opening your gifts now or having Wright tell you what's in the box."

"I won't tell, I won't tell," the mop-haired, 5-year-old sang, as he danced from foot to foot.

His mother nodded a yes he will.

He put his hands over his mouth to seal in the words.

"Open it Tom Tom, open it," both he and Emma Grace chanted.

But first we had to resolve a logistics problem: The box was in the living room, but we were gathered in the sunroom.

Wright thought he was to be the one to bring me the presents because he'd kept his mouth shut. But Emma Grace, who has no problem keeping secrets, grabbed the box and headed my way.

Wright howled. Being Solomon-like, I suggested that she bring me the box first and that her mother could then return it to the living room where Wright could pick it up and bring it to me again.

What wisdom.

Then the two settled in to help me remove the bow and wrapping paper as Wright beamed with great anticipation.

I told them I thought the box might contain cinnamon rolls, but Wright was adamant that was not the case. Three-year-old Emma Grace sniffed to make sure.

Out came a blue T-shirt, new swimming trunks for our annual beach trip and a pair of crocs shoes.

"These are just like those you have on, Wright," I said.

He broke into a big grin and said his mommy had picked them out.

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