We know what Moms think about parenting. Dads, however, are the missing voice. Welcome to "Big Daddy," the column where ideas and issues are presented from a father's perspective. The purpose of this column is to let you know that you aren't alone in your quest to be good parents. None of us are.

There's a note taped inside my journal. It's from my mother -- written by her and sent to me right before the start of my last semester of college. January 1986. It's the typical Mom letter...at least typical for my mother. It offers wise advice about hanging out with "bad people," tells me to make sure I register for classes on time, and on and on. Then she signed it: "I love you."

Nearly two decades later, I still have it. Something about this letter pushed me to keep it. This Mother's Day, like every year, I'll pull the note out, give it a read and think about what used to be.

"Ma," the soil of the earth, Mother and fill-in Father for eleven siblings, died five years ago. Diabetes took her out. It weakened her heart, caused strokes and led to her inevitable demise. Miles, my 6-year-old son, never got the chance to meet her. He's heard stories about her, though. How Ma, working on a South Georgia egg farm, lost part of her left pinky in a conveyor belt. How she made biscuits... or cornbread...every single meal. How Ma could fry chicken, then use the drippings to make gravy. I'm firmly convinced that mothers -- regardless of whether they are average, good or bad-- have more of an impact on the lives of children than
fathers do.

Without question, the most undervalued job in the world is that of a Mom. She's not paid enough, not respected enough and not pampered enough. But she still does her job, regardless of the gratitude or ingratitude that's bestowed upon her. Face it: Dads, typically, are klutzes when it comes to parenting. Ever witnessed the "weekend Dad" in action? He's the guy who takes care of the kids for a few hours when Mom is out of commission. He looks out of sync, downright nervous shepherding those unpredictable little tykes around. It's a pitiful sight, one he's created.

How's that, you ask?