I've had many occasions on which to be a proud father to my three beautiful children but this latest one is right up there with the best.
On July 26, my 15-year-old son Patrick will be carrying the Olympic torch in London during the final stages of its relay round Britain ahead of the Olympic opening ceremony the following day.
And not just any old part of London. My boy will do the stretch along Downing Street, the home of the Britain's prime minister, David Cameron, and probably the most famous street in the United Kingdom.
What an honour. As an infant, my son fell victim to a horrible disease that nearly cost him his life but which eventually led to the amputation of his right leg and left hand.
Despite this, he is the most resourceful, independent youngster I have ever met and he hasn't let his physical problems impede his progress in life. He is good academically and joins in vigorously with school sports and social life.
Two years ago, he had an upper limb prosthetic fitted. This is real state-of-the-art kit, giving him hand dexterity via control of the muscle pulses in his arm. It was a tricky thing to learn but he managed it quickly and now has what he calls his "bionic arm". He was the youngest person in the world to be fitted with the advanced prosthetic, which he insisted should be cast in "Schwarzenegger black".
No doubt somebody in the Olympic organising committee saw the symbolic value of having the torch carried by a youngster who has visibly overcome big problems.
Patrick, a young entrepreneur if ever there was one, saw the possible sponsorship advantages and was lining up deals with Ferrari, Mercedes and Porsche before I pointed out that any such deal would breach the Olympic code on advertising.
Next week, I will see my boy as a hero yet again. Don't miss it on TV, about 9.15pm local time. I just hope he gets an opportunity to tell the prime minister what his dad thinks of him.
We heard the good news about the Downing Street run while Patrick and his elder sister Rosie were enjoying a few days with me in Dubai.
There's nothing like visitors to give you a fresh perspective on the place you call home and Rosie, 19, who had been out to visit many times before, thought the city was looking very good indeed. "They've finished a lot of things, haven't they? I'm sure there were more building sites the last time I was here," (just last year). That's pretty good testimony to the emirate's rate of recovery from economic troubles.
And of course, having visitors means you get to see Dubai as a tourist again yourself. I was surprised at the high levels of occupancy, and room rates, in hotels in what is supposed to be low season, although there were good deals to be done, too. The Dubai hospitality industry has obviously learnt the art of fine-tuning.
For the record, Rosie named the Japanese restaurant Nobu at Atlantis, the Palm as her best experience.
The biggest disappointment was a road trip to Hatta. After a couple of hours' driving and encounters with truculent Omani border guards, we arrived at the pools to find an environmental disaster.
Previous visitors had consumed what looked like a whole goat, and left rotting rubbish everywhere. Oman, please clean up your act.