I never told my father I loved him, though he was kind, supportive, and loving.  He worked hard six days every week, and Sunday was his day at home with us --- my Mom, me, and two older brothers.  And he was home every night for dinner.

 As a child, I would run to the front door when I heard him come in.  And I would hug his legs.  Most often I would stand on his shoes and get a ride into the dining room, holding his hands during my short journey.  I never tired of this ritual, but eventually grew out of it. 
 
At home my Mom was in charge.  My father deferred to her at all times.  It was always an easy demurral.  I did not see the forceful side of my Dad until my teenage years, working for him at his restaurant, during my summer school breaks.  He was totally the man in charge, without any doubt.  He was the chef, the counterman, the cashier --- the chief dishwasher!  He was the boss!

Getting  back to never telling him I loved him.  I didn't  need to --- we  demonstrated our love for one another.  Showing love is more important than verbalizing it!