If you gave my father a gift—wallet, watch, portable radio, clock—he would most likely put it away until his current one was beyond repair. He didn't show affection in the traditional ways, but I knew it was there. He was a pediatric surgeon who routinely answered the phone after one ring and went to work in the wee hours. I purposely slept light so as to hear any movement he made and be able to see him before he left.
My father was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer in 1995. An operation gave him almost six years of life after that, and I didn't waste a second.