The phone trilled in my ear as I waited.
It might be too early.
But a second later, I heard a hearty click and my father’s baritone flowed through the receiver.
I’ve been 27 for 4 weeks now, legally grown for 9 years, but I don’t think I’ll ever cease to be his ‘sweetie’, ‘baby’, or ‘hon’.
My conversations with my father are always exceptional. It’s either me poking his brain on men, him reiterating wisdom about life choices, us discussing current events, in our family and in the world or a one on one chat about nothing at all.
This morning’s chitchat was no different. My dad told me of his plans to snip off the locks that he’s been growing for the past 15 years.
“Yeah, baby.” He sighed and I pictured him running his palm through his thick ropes. “I’m getting too old for this.”
“Well…,” I thought. “Charlie Wilson still has his cornrows.”
“Charlie Wilson needs to give it up too. He’s an old goat!”
We laughed and the fullness of the words made me feel like I was glowing.
It was the best part of my Monday.
He was more than 200 miles away from me, but my father knew just what to say to sew a silver lining in my day.
So does my Heavenly Father.
Grateful for both my Dads.