Another Father’s Day has passed and my kids have not placed me in a home for wacky fathers. I consider that a parenting success.

Children, particularly daughters, have unique relationships with their fathers.

I call it “the voice.”

I hear it all the time from the young women who work in The Courier-Herald office. When I do something they don’t like, which is often, I get the voice. I am sure all fathers with daughters have heard it.

“Gee, Dad, are you drooling? How many fingers am I holding up? Where is your wallet?”

The voice comes when they don’t want to openly yell at me because they know the real world has passed me by years ago. That is when I hear the olden days term – you know like the 1950s and ‘60s – just yesterday in my world.

My daughter, Katy, gave me a stupid smart phone, which I can’t use and I hate. It was her attempt to make me up-to-date. My simple little dumb phone was great. It worked and I didn’t have to push a bunch of buttons that don’t do anything rational.

A certain reporter in this office that shall remain anonymous (we will call her Theresa) used the voice on me this morning because I couldn’t figure my stupid phone out.

“Maybe they have classes for people like you,” she said in a very sweet voice – the voice.

I have it from a well placed source that God can’t figure out his smart phone. “How come nobody told me how this thing works? Where’s the directions? I get to know things, you know.”

I bet no smarty pants girl uses the voice with him.

Some guys have all the luck.

Next Father’s Day I may find my self in a special home for fathers who can’t properly operate an annoying smarty phone. I bet every father in there would have a daughter using the voice on him.

Push that button dad. Everyone knows that.

Yeah … everyone but me and God.