In college, I awakened to a knock on my bedroom door at 7:15 one morning. My roommate was holding the phone, wearing a scowl and saying, "Your dad is on the phone."
"Oh YEA! He's probably calling to wish me Happy Birthday!" Suddenly, the early morning call was OK with her. I picked up the phone, and my daddy sang me Happy Birthday. It has been a tradition for my daddy to try to be the first person to wish me Happy Birthday every year on my birthday. I love it.
Well, somewhere in the ball park of two weeks after that birthday call, my roommate again knocked on the door just after 7 am with another scowl on her face. "It's your dad again, and it's not your birthday." I said OK, and I was truly puzzled. I picked up the phone, and my dad lovingly told me that Granny, my mom's mother, had died. I cried a little bit, thanked my dad, told him I loved him, and walked back out into the living room to hang up the phone. My roommate was sitting at the table eating a bowl of cereal, and I told her that my Granny had died during the night. Again, she wasn't sorry for the early morning phone call.
This morning, at 9:00, which would have been 7 for my dad, I got a phone call. And again. Daddy sang to me.
I love you Daddy!