Confessions of a bad dad

Thank goodness there's no Father's Day edition of "Countdown," or I just might find myself nominated for "Worst Person in the World." In retrospect, I was a complete asshole to my wife and kids today.

I might blame it on sleep deprivation after staying awake from 6:30 Friday morning until 8:30ish Saturday night for Relay For Life, or heat, or dehydration, or latent hostility from my own childhood, but those are just excuses. It's probably closer to the truth -- though perhaps no less fair -- to say I'm just an ass at heart.

My biggest problem, I think, is I give too much weight to Hallmark holidays.

So what if the eggs my daughter prepared for breakfast were cold and the toast insufficiently toasted? So what if she drew a little blood while attempting to give her crotchety old man a pedicure? So what if she was more interested in seeing the new "Nancy Drew" movie than spending time with dear old dad? In fact, who could blame her?

So what if the Bruce Springsteen CD my son got me wasn't accompanied by a card expressing some sappy feelings? So what if I had to replace the lawnmower blade because he bent it while trying to spare me a chore? So what if he missed a spot here or there? So what if he wasn't up for a long bike ride after playing nine baseball games in five days in oppressive heat? In fact, who could blame him?

So what if Father's Day wasn't everything I had hoped but failed to communicate? It is, after all, just another day. Shame on me for wasting it.