For several reasons, my youngest children are quite mad at me for “wreaking the family”. As a result, Father’s Day has gone from a day of fun anticipation to a day of “Will they even call or remember?” Because my oldest daughter was in town last weekend for graduation, she and my youngest daughter invited me over for an early Father’s Day dinner. So, in a way, I already celebrated it. But, still, I would have liked to have heard from all of my kids on that day.
In addition, the last several days have been very emotional, with the graduation of my youngest child from high school, and the next youngest with her AAA from the Art Institute. Several of their friends have thanked their parents, their teachers, their friends — and in some cases, even me! — for the help they received. My youngest kids, however, don’t seem to share that attitude of gratitude.
As a result, much of the morning of Father’s Day was spent composing self-pitying, self-loathing, or remorseful/sorrowful haiku.

Thanks, Coach! (8.53 a.m.)
For the time I spent/
coaching, serving and helping,/
other’s kids thank me.

Hating Father’s Day (9:10 a.m.)
I feel numb. Empty./
Confused. Alone. Sad. Hated./
Hating Father’s Day.

Father’s Day Hug Myself
A previous gift,/
cinched tightly around my neck./
My Father’s Day hug.

Count Your Blessings
The father is angry./
His son is late arriving./
At least he’s with dad.
OrAt least he’s at Church.
OR
Father? Frustrated./
His kids? They’re late arriving.
At least they’re with dad.
OR At least they’re at Church.