Bittersweet.

Father's Day should be a day for me to have fun with my kids. Instead, it turns into a miserable day of me thinking of all the things I have done wrong as a father. My oldest has never called me. NEVER. I am supposed to call her each week on Sunday at 7pm. Pretty specific, huh? That is because her mother and grandparents find it to inconvenient to let me know what is going on with their schedules so that I can attempt to make calls at other times during the week. Making phone calls from my house is not an easy task. Landon and Elizabeth have 1 volume level: LOUD. talking to a 9 year old on the phine is not easy. She is distracted by whatever is going on around her. I don't know if she even cares. I feel like I try. Maybe I should try harder. Maybe I should give up. I remember when I was a kid wanting to talk to my absent father. I would hear his voice on the answering maching and want to return the call. Longing to return his calls. I wasn't allowed to. In a way I hope they are stopping her fromcalling like my mom did to me. Because then I have hope that she cares.

The kids I have at home I don't know that I am that much better off with. I look with envy at other fathers that share their talents with their children. The high school sports star teaching his boy to throw a football etc. I have never been particularly good at anything. I have nothing special to share. I think they know it. Trying to teach my son to ride a bike, I cannot figure out why he is having such a hard time pedaling. A good friend pointed out that his tires needed more air. He pumped them up, and became a hero when Landon could all the sudden could get some forward momentum. It shouldn't have bothered me. It did. A lot.

Right now the kids are at church. They wanted to go there rather than stay home with me. More bitter than sweet.