"History repeats itself." "What comes around goes around." "It has come full circle." ...

The list of cliches goes on and on. But, they do have their basis in truth. Life is a cycle in which we can easily see patterns repeating. I am seeing one such pattern emerging between my son and myself that is similar to that of me and my father.

My father, like most men of his generation in Pike and Mingo counties, was a coal miner. Early each morning (or late in the night if he was working the "hoot owl" shift), he would rise, put on his work clothes and head out to work after picking up his lunch bucket.

This little black box with its rounded top was always a source of intrigue for me. My mother would make sandwiches that she carefully wrapped, add this and that and ultimately fill Dad's lunch bucket to the top with the deft precision of a bricklayer. She would then put a thermos of hot coffee into the top section and set it — clean and shinny — on the table.

But, it was in the evening when Dad brought it back home covered in coal dust that it became a treasure chest for a little boy eager to see his daddy and to see what surprises he had brought home. There was always some sort of leftover in Dad's lunch bucket — a candy bar, a cake. At times there would be something I could never remember seeing Mom put inside it. That didn't matter, it was there at the end of the day and that meant it was mine. These items were the tastiest treats ever.

Our kitchen cupboards were always stocked with "bucket packing" and I could have gone to it at any time of the day and had something. But, that wasn't the point — stuff from Dad's lunch box at the end of the day was special.

It wasn't until years later, long after the lunch bucket raids ceased, that I learned something about my father. He wasn't just bringing back uneaten food. In his own way, Dad was creating a bond with me that still lasts even though he is no longer living.

It turned out that my father always made an effort to have something for me each day. Even when he would eat all of his lunch, there was a store on his way home where he would buy something to put in his lunch box for our daily ritual. I did a feature on a man from the community in which I grew up about a year or so ago. When I was a child, he and his wife ran that little mom-and-pop grocery store. During that interview, we recalled stories from decades ago and his wife still remembered Dad stopping at the store to get things to put in his lunch box for me.

Today, I am a father and have a little boy. Today, I truly understand what my Dad did for me. And, it gives me an even greater appreciation for him.

I don't have a lunch bucket — well, I do have a lunch box that either ends up being unused or when I take something to work with me, I forget to bring it home for several days. But, over the past few weeks a coming home ritual seems to have evolved.

My son, Staton, has discovered a ride-on toy in the foyer of Big Lots. Across from the hobbyhorse is a replica of Scoop — a character from a cartoon (Bob the Builder) he watches. Every time we go there, we have to put in our quarters and have a ride or two ... or three ... or six ... you get the point. He has become obsessed with Scoop. There have been mornings when the first words out of his mouth have been: "Me ride Scoop?" The day the arcade company takes out Scoop and replaces him with something new will be very traumatic for our family.

Every evening when I come home from work, the eager hands of a little pickpocket are searching my pants pocket for "Scoop money." So far, it has been there for him. Yes, it has sometimes required searching under the car seat or a stop at the store for some change just to have two coins in my pocket when I walk in the door. I tell Staton he is a little thief and my wife laughs and reminds me of the stories she has heard me tell about my father's lunch bucket.

The look on his face when he pulls his hand out of my pocket and proclaims, "Scoop money!," is probably the same look another little boy used to have decades ago when he found a leftover "bucket packing" candy bar.

Staton isn't quite 3 yet and probably will never remember "Scoop money" per se, but hopefully, he will always have a connection with me that can't be broken with time. I hope he knows his daddy always loves him just as I still know that my daddy always loved me.

Happy Father's Day, dad.

Terry L. May is the associate editor and a columnist for the Williamson Daily News.