it's F*ing father's day for crying out loud!
it doesn't matter if you want to-
unless you're an A*-hole,
you've gotta phone him up at least a little tiny bit.
the poor bastard only gets one day to feel special after all.
and he's not gonna even see you.
so ring him, chat for a minute,
thank him for playing catch with you, or some sh!t, and you're done.
he's waiting, and waiting.
get after it, neighbors.
it's good for you.
and that's all there really is to say about that.
in other news,
this is the face i make when it's father's day:
that forehead is more closely resembling my dad's every day.
so, where are my kids?
oh, you know-
having fun with some other dad.
that's what happens when really-real life teams up with school
and work and travel and time and distance and circumstance,
and they all collaborate on a group project.
absence make the abyss get bigger, after all.
the more you take away from inside of it,
the more impressive a hole appears.
i'll still get the obligatory call....maybe,
and then we can tell each other how much we love each other,
and miss each other,
and jeez-louise we can't wait to see each other for some family togetherness.
the best part about that is that we really mean every word.
that's also exactly what makes it the worst part, at the same time.
truth tellers can never stop.
we aren't always apart, but we are always involved.
active participation isn't necessarily dependent on proximity.
worthy woodsly goodfellows endure.
hard styles and rough situations and tough times and long nights
and empty houses and broken homes and mutha-F*ing father's days
are just the sorts of things that make the magic minutes matter so much more.
there's always more of this, y'all.
it's the parts in between that fuel the hot home fires forever.
without the bitter,
the sweet's not nearly as sweet.
happy father's day.
now call your dad;
never quiet, never soft.....