I’ll never forget becoming a father for the first time. 

It was late on March 31, 1992. So late, in fact, that it was actually April 1.

I’d just gotten home from working a 4-to-midnight shift at the Merced Sun-Star newspaper.

I fixed a sandwich, turned on the TV, and settled into my beanbag chair to catch some sports highlights. 

It was then that my wife called out from the other room.

“Dang it,” I thought. “I woke her up.” 

At nearly eight months pregnant, sleep was important.

“Yes?” I answered.

“I think my water broke,” she replied.

I looked at the clock. Midnight-thirty. An April Fool’s joke!

Hardly. 

Because the twins were six weeks early, certain medications had to be administered and delivery was held at bay for about 48 hours. But in the wee hours of April 4, 1992, Emily Anne and Hannah Marie Cortez were born.

For as long as I can remember, being a father was the height of my ambition. Perhaps that’s the dream of many youngsters, but I seemed particularly fixated on the notion. And maybe it was because my father wasn’t around much when I was a boy. Again, a lot of kids who grew up in single-parent households probably felt that way.

Fifteen years later, my second wife and I were expecting. And on April 28, 2008 — once again, six weeks early — we welcomed Nicholas Joseph Cortez into the world. 

Today, he’s a sophomore-to-be at Turlock High School and has long since outgrown his baby nicknames: “Rudy Drool-iani” (I’ve never seen a kid drool so much!), “Hiccup El Guerrouj” (after distance-running legend Hicham El Guerrouj, because of his penchant for getting the hiccups), “Papa Zoom” (can’t remember why), “Stinky Fart Boy” (self-explanatory), and “The Senator" (he was a real charmer in public, but he could melt down back at home).

All of that seems like it was 15 minutes ago. But it was 15 years.

I’ve enjoyed many wonderful Father’s Days since, but these days, Emily and Hannah both live in Montana and Nicholas has a rather busy social calendar. The days of macaroni art and burnt toast and cereal in bed are long gone. Now, it’s usually just a phone call from the girls and Nicholas handing me the remote and telling me, “You have the conn, Old Man."

And that’s perfectly fine. I’ve never really gone in for the “Hallmark holidays.” I’ve never wanted my kids to feel like they were required to do something for me on an arbitrary Sunday in June. 

Quite frankly, I’d rather just watch the final round of the U.S. Open.

But orders are orders. And my boss assigned me to write a Father’s Day column.

So, if I could have just one gift, it would be for all the young fathers (and mothers) out there to heed to this one bit of advice:

Savor every moment, fellas.

You think you’ll have these children forever — and you do, of course — but they do not stay with you forever. At 18, they’re off to college, forging their own path, likely to never live with you again. And, really, the separation starts years earlier, when they turn 13 or 14. Kids start to yearn for a little independence, and their friends become much more interesting than you.

In reality, you have your children to yourself for 12 or 13 years, give or take.

Think about where you were 12 or 13 years ago. Probably seems like 12 or 13 minutes, huh?

So, enjoy it. Savor it. Take it in. Be grateful. Be patient. Be present. Just be. Be with your children.

Oh, what I wouldn’t give for the twins to ask me to play in their tiny toy kitchen again, or for Nicholas to ask me to read him a book.

As I write these words, I’m not ashamed to say, that I’ve had to brush away a tear or two. Don’t get me wrong, I love my kids just as they are today. As they’ve gotten older, I get to spend much more time on the friend end of the sliding dad/friend scale. It’s great connecting with them as peers. I love talking current events with the girls. I love watching horror movies with Nicholas.

But holding their little hands when they crossed the street, effortlessly picking them up when they grew too tired to walk, having them fall asleep on my shoulder as if it were the most comfortable place on earth … I miss that terribly.

I think back to when the twins were babies. Sometimes, I’d be alone with them when it was time for a feeding. I’d position myself on the sofa, a baby on either side of me, a bottle in my right hand and a bottle in my left, feeding two babies at once. Inevitably, I’d think, “Gee, when they can just hold their own bottles, it’ll be so much easier.”

Then it became, “Gee, when they can sit up and entertain themselves, it’ll will be so much easier.”

Then it became, “Gee, when they can walk to school by themselves, it’ll be so much easier.”

Then, “Gee, when they can drive themselves to their friend’s house, it’ll be so much easier.”

Then, “Gee, when they graduate college, it’ll be so much easier.”

And that’s all true. Easier is always just around the corner. But easier doesn’t always mean better.

There’s a scene in the 1989 movie “Parenthood” of which I’m particularly fond.

Gil Buckman (portrayed by Steve Martin) is trying to come to grips with this chaos, just as he finds out that baby No. 4 is on the way. He’s not happy about the unexpected pregnancy, which angers his wife, Karen (Mary Steenburgen). As the spouses are arguing, his grandmother enters the room and begins telling a seemingly unrelated story about a thrilling ride on a roller-coaster when she was a young lady. Gil rolls his eyes, thinking his grandma has lost her marbles, but Karen gets it. 

Being a parent is a lot like riding a roller-coaster. There are ups, there are downs. It can be quite scary. Heck, you might even puke on your shoes a time or two. But, man, what a thrill.

So, buckle up, fellas. Put your hands in the air, and enjoy the greatest ride you’ll ever experience.

Happy Father’s Day.