A man sits on his front porch, looking at the stars, thinking:

“When did I become ‘Dad’ instead of ‘Daddy’? Was there a particular moment when I stopped being someone fun to hang out with and instead became merely a means to an end: ‘Can you drive me to…’, ‘Can I have…’, or ‘Why can’t you just leave me alone?’

In the past, teenage angst was a much more private affair; that is unless you were near enough to hear the slamming doors. Not today, “twitter”, “myspace”, and “facebook” have given teenagers a much more public forum from which to bemoan the inadequacy of their parents. It’s like being in a Bergman movie 24/7.”

The man looks down at his hands, tries to still the trembling as the tears slowly seep from his bloodshot eyes.

“Where has she gone?”

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