I just... I don't know, man. It’s 2 AM, obviously, and I’m just staring at the ceiling, thinking about... everything. My boys, you know? They’re grown. Thirty-five and thirty-two. Good kids, really. Got their own lives, their own families. But it’s like... did I do something wrong? Because they just... don't call. Like, ever. Unless they need something, a ride somewhere or a hand with a clogged drain, and even then it's a text, not a call. Is that what it is now? Just texts? I used to think, you know, when I retired, I’d have more time for them. More time for *us*. Get together for a beer, watch a game, just talk. Like my dad and his brothers used to do. That was the picture in my head, the whole time I was busting my ass at the plant, pulling doubles, saving up. For *this*. For a quiet house where the phone rarely rings, unless it’s some scammer trying to sell me new windows. My wife, god bless her, she passed five years ago, and it just feels... emptier now. You know? Like, before, she’d be the one hounding them, making sure they called. Now it’s just me, staring at my phone, hoping for a notification that isn't spam. And it's not even about "oh, I need them to take care of me" or whatever. I’m fine. I'm 62, yeah, but I still lift, I still walk. I just... want to know how they’re doing. Really doing. Not just the surface stuff you see on Facebook. Like, what are they thinking about? Are they happy? Are they worried about anything? I mean, I don't even — whatever. It’s just, when they were little, they were always around, always asking questions, always needing me for something. And now it’s like they just... forgot how to pick up the phone and say "hi, Dad." Last week, my oldest, Mike, he posted a picture on Instagram. Him and his wife and the grandkids, all at the beach. Looks beautiful. And I’m happy for them, I really am. But he never even mentioned they were going. Just a picture, after the fact. And I'm sitting here, looking at it, and I'm like, "Is this my life now? Just seeing snippets of their lives on a screen, like I'm a stranger?" It's not like I'm asking for a daily check-in, you know? Just... something. A little bit of connection. My neighbor, Frank, his kids are always over there, loud and laughing. And I hear it, through the wall, sometimes. And I just think, "Why not me?" Is it just an age thing? Is this what happens when your kids grow up? You just... become obsolete? I mean, I try to reach out, you know? Send a text, "How was your day?" or "Thinking of you." And sometimes I get a "fine" or a thumbs-up emoji. A thumbs-up. After all these years. It just feels... small. Like I’m just a little footnote in their big, busy lives. And it just hurts, man. It just hurts.