For your consideration, my schedule for Father's Day, 2008:
6:15 AM - The alarm rings, my hand rushes to turn it off and I jam my finger on the bedside table.
7:30 AM - Beloved and I head to church for worship rehearsal. My team is leading today, and I need to tune my guitar to the piano...which is a quarter-step flat.
9:30 AM - During the first song, I drop my pick into the guitar, because of my jammed finger.
10:15 AM - A blister is cultivated on my thumb due to playing without a pick; due to dropping my pick into the guitar; due to jamming my finger; due to the alarm ringing at 6:15 AM.
12:20 PM - The steaks hit the grill, and I accidentally break open the blister on my thumb while closing the grill's lid.
12:45 PM - Our college-freshman daughter, KayJay, makes me tear-up with her mealtime prayer of thanks for her daddy.
2:30 PM - At a graduation open house, salt from a potato chip gets in my raw blister, which causes me to drop my can of Pepsi, which causes the graduate's grandmother to slip, which brings the celebration to a grinding halt as Gramma is rushed to the emergency room to see if her hip is broken. Somehow, the graduate doesn't sound sincere when she says, "Thanks for coming."
4:30 PM - While mowing the back yard into windrows so I could bale it (yes, the grass was that long), a rock flies out from the mower and gashes my shin.
6:00 PM - I cry in the shower when soap gets in the open wounds on my shin and my thumb.
6:47 PM - Having popped my traditional batch of Sunday evening popcorn, I sit down to watch a VHS of The Pink Panther I borrowed from work...right up to the point where the tape gets eaten by our player.
I had a great Father's Day, because the 7:30 and 12:45 entries are the only ones that are actually -- how do you say it? -- true.