Probably somewhere when the father scorecard is tallied, the ability to Christmas shop for your family must be graded. I get an F. With three daughters, ages 12, 11, and 5 who wear only the latest styles, and a wife who has been known to stalk a sale rack like a starving leopard at a watering hole, I should have it figured out by now. But no. I just cannot do it right. Cheapitis, terminal case.

In this computer age, so many fathers like me, who can’t be entrusted with buying more than milk and bread without a written list, can buy online. I, though, am hopeless at that, too. I have to get my kids to turn on the computer for me, then find for me whatever it is I am looking for. Kind of ruins the surprise of a Christmas gift when the kid has to do all the work. So go I must.

Thursday with my wife at work making the money to pay the mortgage, I took the three daughters from home in Fort Mill to the mall in Pineville, N.C. We are inside 30 seconds and they’ve hustled me for these milkshake-type things at Starbucks — $13.10 with tax.

I get a coffee out of the deal, served by a lady of at least 18 years of age who laughs at me because I say “grand” when it is “grande.” If you can’t speak Starbucks, that might be the first clue you will fail with the rest of the shopping. Because I am a firm believer in gifts being reflective of affection, we decide that the gifts for my wife must show warmth.