While window-shopping in New York City I saw an old gold watch that reminded me of one my father gave me when I graduated from college. It was engraved with the simple inscription “Love, Dad.” But it was stolen during a burglary years ago and I hadn’t thought much of it or the inscription since. I always knew my dad loved me. I took it for granted. He was supposed to. I was his son. I’m always a bit shocked when I run into people who had a very different experience. The truth is not all dads love their kids and even those who do don’t always express it. I had no idea how lucky I was.

And until I became a father myself, I had no way of understanding the depth and intensity of his feelings and the emotional investment he had in my happiness. I couldn’t imagine then how much it must have hurt him when I was cut from my baseball team or dumped by my first girlfriend, or how proud I think he’d be today seeing me be the kind of father he taught me to be.

Chat with ethicist Michael Josephson at 3 p.m., Monday

I always assumed I loved my dad and he knew it, but the truth is my love was shallow and unexplored. I never came close to feeling or expressing gratitude for all the ways he made my childhood safe, comfortable and fun. I wish I had given him that gift.

Of course my dad wasn’t perfect. He had flaws like everyone else. It’s so easy to overweigh our parents’ shortcomings and underweigh their virtues and undervalue their love.

What’s not easy is experiencing and expressing gratitude while it still matters.

This is Michael Josephson reminding you that character counts.