Father's Day is not just an opportunity for me to receive a new tie, but is a chance to reflect on my own skills and abilities as a dad. With today's modern conveniences, it's easy for me to gain wisdom by looking at scholarly research, perusing best-selling books by authors, and consulting experienced fathers around me. Of course, I ignore all those resources and turn to classic television instead.

Yes, you can learn a lot from watching the best TV dads doing their thing. I recently studied a batch of vintage sitcoms and observed how the fathers managed certain timeless situations. Here is what I discovered:

What do you do when your careless child is responsible for the destruction of one of your prized possessions?

At the beginning of the Leave It to Beaver episode Ward's Baseball, Ward Cleaver is beaming. He just found one of his favorite treasures in an old trunk: a baseball autographed by legends of the game like Babe Ruth, Lou Gehrig, and Kiki Cuyler...

Kiki Cuyler? Well, he IS a Hall of Famer, you know. More to the point, his name is a lot funnier than, say, “Al Simmons.” Actually, the big head scratcher on the baseball is Augie Galan, a distinguished outfielder and multiple All-Star, but hardly on the level of Ruth and Gehrig. I guess one of the writers was a fan...or a relative. Ward thinks they're all immortals, though, and when June calls him out for his star struck demeanor, he replies that back then, the players were larger than life: “You never caught any of these old-timers coming down to earth to shave on television or be psychoanalyzed in weekly magazines.” Someone alert Commissioner Bud Selig! I fear baseball still hasn't fully eliminated the scourge of players shaving on television.

You know how much Ward loves this ball? “So much you left it in an old trunk for 20 years,” I wish June would tell him, but, no, he is so excited he has a special pedestal made so he can boast when the likes of Fred Rutherford drops by the house. It also makes it all the more tempting a target for Beaver and Larry, and faster than you can say, “Should have had it authenticated, appraised, and put up for auction, Ward,” the boys are outside playing catch with the valuable memento.

It's not long before Larry tells Beav, “I'm Don Drysdale,” only he forgets to add, “if he were pitching to an 8-foot-tall left-hander.” You see, Larry's toss is juuust a bit outside and way over his pal's head, and so the ol' horsehide rolls into the street, where a passing truck squashes it.

Now, I think Ward's response is remarkably restrained. He does NOT have Beaver exiled to a Georgia chain gang for the rest of his juvenile years. He's upset, but he's not screaming or anything, despite Wally's reference to “all the yelling going on” that makes one think Father is going Full Metal Jacket on his younger son. In fact, Ward is firm but measured and calm. Nevertheless, he lays down a heavy punishment: an extended period of grounding, isolation from friends including Larry (Is this really a punishment, Ward?) and dinner in his bedroom.

It only takes one dinner without the Beav for Ward to start fretting that he has been too harsh. June and Wally think so. So Dad makes his way towards his younger son's room, but Wally, of all people, is the one who explains Beaver will respect him more if the punishment sticks. I think I respect Ward a little less after this episode. Beaver deserves every bit of what he gets and then some. Just letting Larry Mondello handle that sweet collector's item was disrespect enough, but playing catch outside with it was over the line. The kid deserves a little more fire and brimstone. Ward then has to be persuaded by his older son to preserve the punishment he gives. Come on, Ward, bring the hammer down! I aspire to display patience and tranquility with my own kids without being a pushover.

What do you do when a bully preys on your child?

I'm more thankful for what Sheriff Andy Taylor doesn't do than for what he does do in Opie and the Bully, the opening episode of Season 2 of The Andy Griffith Show. One of my least favorite sitcom clichés is the old saw about bullies being “all talk,” and that if you stand up to them, they'll back down because “they're more afraid of you than you are of them.” Yeah, all those eighth graders trying to dump seventh graders' books out of their hands are scared of them.

Fortunately, Andy Taylor doesn't spread that canard when son Opie is terrorized by a lunch-money-robbing miscreant named Sheldon. Wait, Sheldon? Opie's nemesis is a kid named Sheldon? Well, the show's executive producer, Sheldon Leonard, IS probably the only Sheldon who ever intimidated anyone, so I guess it makes sense here.

Andy realizes he can't fight Opie's battles for him, nor can he call in a SWAT team from a neighboring jurisdiction to swoop into Mayberry and take Sheldon off the grid. What he CAN do is spin a compelling yarn, though, and he does just that. While fishing with the boy, Andy tells Opie of the time a fellow kid told him he couldn't fish in a certain spot. Andy didn't back down, and fisticuffs ensued. But what do you think happened? Well, as the sheriff tells Opie, we're fishing here now, aren't we? Now, I don't want to say this is a tall tale, but would any of us be surprised if Andy maybe fudged the details a little bit in the service of telling a larger truth?

The best thing about his strategy is he doesn't try to convince Opie he won't get hurt. He merely says that what he's afraid of—namely, getting socked in the face—isn't as fearsome as he thinks. Sure enough, Opie stands up to Sheldon and gains not only his self-respect, but a nasty shiner. Andy doesn't panic, but, seeing how proud his son is of the black eye, says that if they leave it alone, it might last for a whole week or so. Yes, tune in next week for another episode of “Things Fathers Can Get Away with When There's No Mother Around Theater.”

What do you do when your child tells an unbelievable story?

Well, if you're Rob Petrie, you counter with a whopper of your own. In The Dick Van Dyke Show episode A Bird in the Head Hurts, little Richie suddenly gets hysterical, running into the house yelling that a giant woodpecker was pecking his head. He even runs out of his bedroom later, saying the same creature came in his window and attacked him again!

Both Rob and Laura assume their child has gone cuckoo. They attempt to dissect the origin of the fantastic account of the bird attack, never once believing that a giant woodpecker has actually targeted the boy. Rob settles on a theory that Richie lacks pride in his TV-writing dad, so he decides to claim that he shot the beast, giving his kid something to brag about to his friends.

This goes over so well that Richie is swelling with pride, and so is Rob. Actually, Rob is so proud of himself he asks Laura for chocolate pudding with his breakfast because, hey, why not? He earned it with his “deft handling of this problem.” Only thing is, the imaginary assassination of the imaginary villain doesn't take, and the woodpecker returns to terrorize Rich. This time, Millie sees it, and, folks, when Millie tells you something, you can believe it.

The Petries feel terrible about doubting their son, but I can't blame them. The first time I saw this episode, I also thought Rich was fabricating the whole thing. It's hard to feel guilty, though, when, after Rob redeems himself by figuring out how to capture it, you see the size of the woodpecker. Richie keeps describing it as a “giant,” which makes me assume it's at least as big as an abominable snowman, Andre the Giant, or at the very least the Easter Bunny. When we see the woodpecker is only as big as...a bird, it's a letdown. Sure, getting pecked on the noggin by the thing must be painful, but this isn't the Roger Corman movie scenario the Petries and I envisioned. I think Rob owes Richie an apology for not taking his frightened ramblings seriously. However, as a conscientious father, he should also give him some lessons in vocabulary, the perils of exaggeration, and maybe a smidgen of basic ornithology.

What do you do when both of your kids want you as a partner?

In The Adventures of Ozzie and Harriet's Father and Son Tournament, there is a big ping pong tournament on the horizon. Oops, excuse me, table tennis tournament, as Ricky corrects Harriet. Naturally, the younger son wants Ozzie to be his partner in the event. Cut to David and Ozzie walking together discussing how they will fare in the upcoming table tennis tournament. Uh-oh!

So we have two sons, but only one father, and only one competition. How does Ozzie Nelson determine which son to pair up with in the tourney? Does he call a family meeting and have everyone talk through the problem? Does he draw on juvenile psychology research and figure out how to give his assistance to the son who most needs it while simultaneously assuring the other that he is still appreciated and loved? Heck, does he say that the only fair thing to do is to help neither of them and quit the whole deal to go bowling?

No, Ozzie does none of those things. Instead, this seasoned patriarch digs into the bag of tricks every father accumulates over the course of his years on the job and proceeds to...flip a coin?  Instead of attempting to use reason to work this one out, Oz decides to let fate decide. Personally I don't think this strategy is about the fairness of chance, but rather about Dad being too chicken to do it himself. It's a lot easier to say, “Hey, we flipped a coin, Ricky,” than to explain, “Well, you see, I wish I could be your partner, Ricky, but David is a lot better than you, and I think he and I have a better chance of winning and shutting the mouth of that blowhard Thorny.” Somehow Rick's fine with this, asking only that Ozzie return his coin.

It's evident that what concerns Ozzie in this episode is not the fear of losing the affection of one of his kids. Rather, it's the desire to crush “Thorny” Thornberry, who is talking trash and vowing to bring home the trophy with his own son. When bragging rights with your neighbor are at stake, who has time to consider the psyches of teenage boys? Besides, at least the “flip a coin” method is more sensible than Ozzie's other decision-making techniques: Rock, Paper, Scissors; Eeny, Meeny, Miny, Moe; and I'm Thinking of a Number Between 1 and 10.

What do you do when your son's girlfriend has a crush on you?

I know it's not fair to confuse a sitcom character with the actor playing him, but once you read up on how Fred MacMurray shot all his My Three Sons scenes at once, in order to minimize the amount of time he spent on set, it's difficult to watch his Steve Douglas in action, or inaction as the case may be, and not assume a certain laissez-faire style of parenting is in effect. Steve only makes this assumption easier in episodes like The Crush, when Mike's new girl Mary Beth Jackson visits the household and falls head over heels for Mr. Douglas. We know she falls hard because we see her googly eyes and hear the soundtrack blare something that resembles a flying saucer in orbit.

Mike is oblivious at first, but when Mary Beth keeps interrupting their date by asking questions about Steve, he sees what's going on. Not only is he miffed at his girl, though, he's annoyed with his father. Hey, when you've got it, you've got it, Mike, and how can you expect a teenager to resist the same charms that once beguiled the likes of Claudette Colbert?

We definitely have a situation here, and Steve's strategy in response is to assume everything will work itself out while he smokes his pipe. Making matters worse, Mary Beth thinks the pipe only makes Steve more appealing. Father-in-law Bub O'Casey, a man of the world, insists that Steve needs to take this seriously, but he continues to downplay the crush, pulling one more weapon out of his holster: His patented bemused expression.

Fortunately for the family, the girl's infatuation dissipates, but it's not because of the laid-back problem-solving style of Mr. Douglas. Mary Beth talks to her mother about her boyfriend's dreamy father, and Mom responds with something to the effect of, “Oh, yeah, your aunt dated him back in the day.” Remember that flying saucer I mentioned? It crashes hard once Mary Beth realizes her aunt once wooed her new crush. If that wasn’t enough, Mom piles it on by saying SHE had a bit of a crush on Steve, too. Mary Beth quickly regenerates her affection for Mike as her attraction to Steve vanishes faster than Mike himself does when the series switches to color. The Douglas Method of parenting looks a bit unengaged, but I must admit things do seem to work out eventually.

So what have I learned from watching the finest classic TV dads? Well, I gained the awareness to never let my kids linger in the same time zone as my prized material possessions. I discovered a good yarn is as good as a self-defense lesson, and even if it isn't, a black eye is a badge of honor. I saw how the most ridiculous story a child brings you might actually be true—sort of. Then I realized the value of a coin toss in deciding crucial familial concerns. Finally, I learned that sometimes the best thing a father can do is nothing at all.

That's a lot of parental knowledge gained from a mere few hours of vintage television. I'm sure glad I didn't waste time hitting the library or the local university. As always, all the wisdom I need is right there in good, old TV land.

Rick Brooks is the proprietor of Cultureshark, a blog in which he uses an often irreverent approach to express his reverence for the classics and the un-classics.