At 1735, we received a phone call from the landline of two clueless people. Things fell apart. Here is a script to the phone call:
Son: “Happy Birthday, Dad.”
Dad: “Thank you, son. Will you come to my dinner tonight?
Son: “No. I’m coming over the weekend.”
Dad: “It’s okay, son. No matter what happened you are still my son. Do you want to talk with Mom.” (Of course, Maw refused.)
Son: “Yeah.”
Dad: “Oh. Mom is not available.”
Son: “That’s wrong with her. She cannot let go. Here’s Lindsey.”
Twit: “Hi, Dad. Happy Birthday. [Blah. Blah. Blah.]
Dad: “[Blah. Blah. Blah.] Bye.”
—
At 1744, Paw called the boy’s cellphone number and left a message that he won’t be available and forgot that he had somewhere to go.
At 1808, the boy called our landline. No one picked up the phone. I guess it is God’s will that we should go living our separate lives.
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To the lost soul, do NOT come over the weekend. Do NOT ever come here AGAIN! If you are in your right mind, you should NOT blame your own mother for your own stupidity. I wonder why you have NOT changed blaming others. You sound eerily like Shill-Louse, who sounds like her vindictive mother, the Chingster — always blaming others for their OWN hurt feelings.
If you are in your right mind, you should just come over by yourself and surprise your father with a hug or something ON his day! You only live less than a mile away! What kind of son are you? You are coming on your own time and refused your own father’s invitation? It won’t take your too much time out in your life for a couple of hours tonight!
Damn! So you see folks. It’s more complicated when a lost father looses his lost son to a frustrated mother who gets caught in the middle of a bloodline so thick.
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