What is it with the children we raised?

Since my children were very young, I was available to dry their tears, listen to their problems, bail them out of jams, confront their teachers,  and provide financial assistance when possible.
Why is it, now that they are adults that their listening skills have not extended to me?
Why is it when I share my concerns, worries, and fears with my adult offspring, I receive cliched responses such as,
“I try to live without drama,”
or “I don’t want to get involved.”
Yet when they call me with their ongoing issues, I am available to offer a shoulder, a bit of advice, or a kind word, or the proverbial cash outlay. I often wonder if any compassion will ever be extended towards me, or will I always be the cause of their problems or misguided decisions–the scapegoat?

I loved each of my five children to the best of my ability and continue to do so–but, just once, I would like a simple thanks and maybe a compassionate word or two.

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