It is eight in the morning, and I am awake for Failed Father’s day. A little before seven, our aging chocolate lab Barley started barking. She does this just about every morning. It could be that she needs to go outside, that the cat is outside asking to come inside, that she is hungry, that she needs attention, or simply that she always barks a little before seven. Fiona gets up and tells me to go back to bed. It’s father’s day and she will take care of Barley. Of course, Barley doesn’t stop barking. A little later, my wife gets up to check on Barley, telling me to try and rest, but still Barley barks. My wife comes back to bed and we rest a little more, but I am awake now, so I come downstairs and start writing.

Even the simplest things, I fail at. I can’t sleep, even though my family wants me to. The past few years have been pretty tough. I haven’t been able to earn the sort of money necessary to get my family everything they want. At times it wears on me, and I even have difficulties being as emotionally available as I should be. Of course, being able to only meet familial needs instead of familial wants, may be better for the family. Part of growing up includes learning that you can’t always get what you want.

Yet all in all, we’re doing okay. I think of a friend, thousands of miles away, who lost his son five years ago. Even over the great distance, made a little shorter over the Internet, and over the years, the sharp pain is still palpable. It reminds me of a story I heard online a while ago.

A father is at the playground watching his daughter ride her bicycle. He looks at his watch and sees that it is time to go. His daughter begs to stay, “Please, just five more minutes.” He smiles, and says, “okay, just five more minutes.” A mother nearby, watching the interchange compliments him on being a very tolerant father.

He responds that things are not what they seem. He explains that a year ago, the little girl’s big brother was killed when his bicycle got hit by a car not far from the playground. He is glad that his daughter has managed to learn to enjoy riding a bicycle safely at the playground. More importantly, he explains that his daughter may think he has given her a gift by allowing her five more minutes to ride her bike, but the real gift is that he is receiving five more minutes to watch her daughter enjoy her childhood.

So this father’s day, I am pretty sure I know what my family will give me. Fiona will give me an opportunity to help her with something on the computer and a chance to do another radio show with her. Miranda will probably give me the chance to sit in the passenger seat as she drives around a parking lot learning how to drive. My eldest will probably give me the opportunity to be concerned for her, even though she is mad at me for telling her no to something she really wanted. My wife will probably give me an opportunity to help her with some simple task that she used to be able to do before her horrible bout with Lyme disease.

Yes, there will be times throughout the year that I will receive these gifts less thankfully. After all, like all fathers, I am a failed father. Some fathers might have problems recognizing or accepting their own failures and believe that by yelling at the umpire they are being a good role model. Others might have problems accepting their own fatherhood leaving their children to be raised by others. Some may carry pains of great loss. Others may be losing much through their inability to connect with their emotions.

Whatever the failures, I want to wish everyone a Happy Failed Father’s Day. I’m Aldon, and I’m a failed father.