When I was an undergraduate at the City College of New York, my father pushed me to major in business even though I was much more attracted to the humanities. I loved history, English and psychology.

"These courses are interesting," he would say, "but you can't make any money that way. Peter, you can be successful in commerce. Find a nice girl, not like the ones you spend time with now. Buy a house in the suburbs. It's time to settle down."

"Remember, I was an owner of a successful factory in Prague, before the War."

But I didn't remember those successes. I was more affected by the suffering he experienced in a concentration camp and the anti-Semitism that lingered in Czech culture even after the Nazis were defeated.

When he came to the United States, my father had a job with a Swiss import-export firm. Yet he experienced tension -- having been the boss, he was now only an employee. His business suggestions were not implemented and he became more and more bitter. His son would not take his advice, nor would his boss.

It took me decades to understand how he must have felt -- a young businessman living a comfortable life in a cosmopolitan capital, Prague, struggling to make ends meet in a strange new land. This downward spiral hit him hard as did the realization that his only son challenged his world view.

Now I'm trying not to repeat my father's way. I have a lot of advice for my son, but I don't want to tell him what to do. He's got to figure it out on his own.

But how to best share life's lessons? Jonathan Cohen, a wise New York child therapist, advised asking questions.

"Mike, what is it that you want to do? What makes you happy?"

"Dad, you know how I love to write, especially fiction. But I also want to try teaching, maybe get a Ph.D. in English."

I'm both flattered and concerned that Mike wants to follow my footsteps. I received a Ph.D. in sociology and was a professor for 27 years. When Mike was in middle and high schools I took him to some of my classes.

"Mike do you know the Ph.D. can take a bunch of years? I spent five years on course work, exams, and the thesis. I learned a lot, had fun and worked hard all at the same time. You can do it, but are you sure you want all that grueling hard work?"

By asking questions, I'm trying to encourage Mike to think things through for himself. Yet sometimes I do feel that I know what's best for him. I think he would make a great teacher of English, but he could also be a great therapist. He is intuitive, empathic and thoughtful, with good social skills.

Mike called us last week, interested in the Ph.D. program at UNC. I told him it was a great program.

"Will you have to take the Graduate Record Exam?"

I could feel his tone change. Mike hates tests, but he loves to read and write. So Mike contacted several of his high school and college teachers for guidance and decided, for now, to apply to a few MFA programs instead.

Clearly, being a father is a life-long job -- applauding achievements, offering suggestions when asked, and providing a gentle nudge now and then.

Whatever happens, I know I don't want my son to say, one day, "My father had an agenda, for my whole life."

Peter Stein is a retired sociologist living in Chapel Hill. Contact him at PStein22@aol.com