As a man, I am confident that I can accomplish any goal so long as I have duct tape, a flashlight and some potato chips. However, I am only two short weeks away from my son's fourth birthday and just like my gas tank lately, I keep coming up empty when it comes to birthday gift ideas for my only son.

So far, he has 42 bajillion toys that light up, make sounds, whistle (sometimes inappropriately, I might add), grunt, catch on fire, zoom around tracks and challenge his dexterity.

He also has approximately half of the Amazon Rain Forest in books that teach him to read, spell, memorize his alphabet and listen to directions in four languages. Unfortunately, Pittsburghese isn't one of them.

The toy aisles are starting to mesmerize me as I search high and low for the perfect gift, and the clothing racks pretty much stop at Steelers' jerseys. After all, does any kid younger than 40 years old NOT want to be seen wearing a Hines Ward jersey?

Additionally, my wife still believes that I definitely suffer from some sort of blindness when it comes to matching clothing apparel. At the very least, she claims that I exhibit fashion skills only matched by rock stars from the mid 1980s and guys who still drive Ford Pintos.

Alex is too young to fish, and besides, I am probably not the ideal person to teach him how to be an angler. He also is just learning to kick a ball into a net or take a mean swing at an underhanded toss.

No, this problem is much greater than a man of my mortal skills can handle, especially when I need to consider what everyone else is probably going to get him.

Like the techno-junkie I've become, my search leads me to the Internet on my quest to knock everyone off of the top of the toy mountain with the purchase of the perfect gift.

The Bank of America children's ATM and Savings Bank comes up as one of the possible ideas. I am sorry to say, but unfortunately, my son has already mastered the ATM. Anytime we run out of cash (which is always) he simply tells me to "Drive through, Daddy. Get some money from Pam." (She's our banker.) Somehow I'm sure she's put him up to this, but I can't prove it yet.

A toy workshop pops up next, and for a moment, carries some merit. Then, however, I notice that the drills, hammers, and saws are not real. That's too bad. My son works real flashlights, screwdrivers, etc., so this would probably bore him to tears within minutes.

Fisher Price offers an actual pop up tent that can be erected in less than two minutes, even without duct tape. Sadly, there is a tunnel as well that my son would be more than happy to put my daughter into and then stuff both ends with pillows to keep her in the tent. This is not good, even though it would be funny to watch for a few minutes.

Junior stilts should be named "Immediate trip to hospital for broken ankle," and a toy that changes your voice probably comes equipped with a bottle of Excedrin, so both of those items are off the list.

My quest continues, so let me simply end by saying thanks for making the past four years so much fun, Alex. I love you buddy!