My wife and I started giving our young boys a small allowance several weeks ago.

Ostensibly, this was to help teach them important lessons about saving, budgeting and earning an honest day's wage for an honest day's work. And to get them to clean their rooms every once in a while.

In actuality, however, it's all about me. I started giving them money because I want them to spend the whole wad on me. Father's Day is today and, yes, I am testing their love.

It's not that I haven't appreciated their little homemade presents and cards in the past. The earrings made from dried macaroni are just adorable. That Wiggles mix tape is just awesome. And that shapeless blob of clay is just what I was looking for.

Last year, one of the boys gave me an ashtray (made from a milk carton) that he created in art class. Since I didn't smoke, at the time, the other boy scratched out some homemade coupons for me to use -- each was good for a carton of Marlboros at a participating local retailer.

Subconsciously, could they have been trying to kill me off and get their inheritance just a little sooner? Maybe it was consciously. What was it gonna be this year? A crack pipe and a gallon of moonshine?

Given their previous lack of funding, I would have gone into this Father's Day expecting more of the same. Now, however, they have some disposable income, and I am anxious to see how they plan to dispose of it. They'd better not be saving it for college, as their mother suggested.

I've been dropping hints, and I think they're picking up on the signals. This could be the best Father's Day ever.

Instead of breakfast in bed -- runny eggs, cold toast, orange juice that invariably spills all over the sheets -- I want them to get me a Cinnabon. Not a cinnamon roll from a local bakery or grocery store, the authentic Cinnabon. I know we don't have a nearby franchise, but the Cinnabon online locator says there's one in Montreal. If the boys get up very early in the morning, they can ride their bikes to the border, sneak across -- they're small -- and hitchhike to Cinnabon. I'd really like them to make sure it's still warm when I get it.

Oh, and the orange juice should be fresh-squeezed, from oranges they plucked from a Florida grove with their own tiny hands.

Instead of another one of those snazzy "World's No. 1 Dad" T-shirts, I'd like something else to improve my outward appearance: strand by strand hair replacement. Just a few strands on top, to replace the ones they've made me pull out. I'd like to stress that I want the boys to contract the services of a medical professional; NOT to try gluing some excess cat hair to my scalp while I sleep. Again.

That pencil the boys gave me last year was very nice, very useful, but this year I'd like another device with which I can communicate "¦ I'm thinking a new iPhone.

I love the yearly offer to let me lay down on the couch and watch a game without noisy interruption. This year, however, I'd like to watch the big game. In person. I'm thinking tickets to Game 6 of the NBA Championship Series in Boston. I know it's sold out, but it's about time for the boys to get their very own eBay account.

It was touching the year the boys gave me a few of their Pokemon cards to play with. This year, though, I'd like a Wii. I know those are hard to get, but if you boys took shifts staking out the electronics store at the mall, I'm sure you would be able to snag one. No, you can't play with it, too. Not until you're, oh, 16. I think that's pretty much the standard age when kids are allowed to play video games "¦

As for my Father's Day dinner, nothing fancy. Maybe a nice, juicy steak. Yeah, one of those mail-order steaks. Make it a dozen. I've always said that meat that fits through a mail slot just naturally tastes better. It's a little more expensive, but I'm worth it.