To say that Eric was a difficult child was a great understatement. One most aware of this was Liane, who had been there since the very first time he had slapped his tiny hands on his high chair and screamed "No!" when she had been trying to aeroplane, choo-choo train, blackmail, bargain and beg peas into his mouth. She had witnessed every strop, sighed through every sulk, and tried to stand strong against every tantrum, so she knew better than anyone how difficult Eric could be. The most difficult thing about it all was that he didn't seem to be getting any better, so that even when he was in middle school she still found herself suffering one of his off days.

"Eric, you have to get up." she said for the fifth time, her voice descending from commanding to pleading, "Otherwise you'll be late for school."

"I'm not going to school today." Eric muttered, pulling the quilt higher over himself so that only a chestnut tuft at the top of his head was sticking out.

Sighing wearily, Liane went to sit on the edge of his bed and placed a hand on the large lump where her son laid hiding. "Why not, poopsiekins? Are you ill?"

"No. I just don't wanna go."

"But why, Eric?" she asked, reaching up to stroke the exposed hair, "All your friends will miss you."

"I said I don't want to go, mom!" Eric yelled into his pillow, so loudly and angrily that it made Liane recoil her hand in fright and blink in surprise at his sudden outburst. When he stilled after that though, she relaxed again, but frowned when she could have sworn she heard him sniffle sadly. Her heart twisted at the wretched sound – the sound that was a failure of a mother – and reached out to pull his quilt down.

Eric was crying. Tears and snot were running down his crumpled face. It wasn't the brattish crocodile tears she had witnessed him perform a billion times before though. This sadness was one of the most genuine she had ever seen from him. Knowing that he couldn't hide it anymore, Eric sniffed openly, and finally, finally spoke honestly.

"…It's Father's Day today…The teachers are gonna tell us to make cards for our dads…I never have anything to do on Father's Day…"

A long, silent pause followed, in which Liane only came to realise that she too was crying when one of her tears dampened Eric's quilt cover. She let out a shuddery exhale and ran a shaky hand through her son's wild mess of hair, to which he didn't protest. "It's okay, Eric. You don't have to go to school today if you don't want to. I'll phone the school and tell them you're sick, shall I?"

Eric sniffed again and nodded, before burying his wet face into his pillow. He never had been able to bear people seeing him truly cry.

"Alright, mommy will go and do that. And then, if you'd like, I can make you a powdered doughnut surprise. Would you like that, hun?"

After a moment of deliberation, Eric slowly shook his head. Liane couldn't help the way her chin wobbled.

"O-okay then, dear…If you need anything then you call mommy, alright?"

Eric didn't answer, so Liane just leant down to squeeze him in a short hug and press a kiss to his head before rising from the bed and leaving the room, making sure to close the door behind her.

Eric was a difficult child, but nothing was more difficult than being alone in knowing that.

Author's Notes:

I became inspired to write this just the other day when I came upon a saddening drawing of Eric crying as he clutched an envelope addressed to Daddy. It got me weeping, because I'm a big cry-baby with a soft spot for my baby boys, but it also got me thinking about how Eric's lack of a father must affect him, and how the day dedicated to fathers must be for him.
Thank you for reading this, and I hope you cried doing so as much as I did writing it.

Disclaimer: South Park does not belong to me, but to its creators, Trey Parker and Matt Stone.