Phone Calls With My Dad

My Dad calls me every week.There is usually nothing too profound in our banter.
"Hey kid, glad I finally reached you.Thought you were mad at me or something." He usually has left a couple of messages trying to get a hold of me. I have not returned them because either my children have purposely inadvertently locked me in a closet or I have voluntarily accidentally locked myself in a closet.
I am not mad at him. Not anymore. Not even a little.
We tell each other fake daily affirmations. "Wear your underwear for gosh sakes", "Never stick your finger in a light socket more than once", "Be kind, rewind". They are really dumb, but we laugh a lot.
We talk about our lives. There are some similarities, "Went for a run", "Read a good book", "Went to church", "Sitting on the porch enjoying the night air".
There are some differences, "Worked on my Harley", "Poured concrete all day", "Got asked for my phone number". This last one happens to my Dad often. To me...never. Which is fine with me, because the last thing I need from my closet is another phone call to return.
Sometimes my Dad quotes me, "You said something that I never forgot...". Sometimes I quote him, "I forget what you said exactly, but..." It's not that I wasn't listening, it's just that there is a cost to living in a state of constant over-stimulation of sound and activity. So much goes in my head all day that some information invariably leaks out. It's probably under my couch cushions or stuck to the kitchen floor somewhere.
He listens as I fill him in on our lives. He gets excited about our adventures and he gives tender advice on our struggles. He laughs at our kid's antics. Our running joke is that all of our kids are going to gang up on him and use him for home plate, doddering old man that he is. I imagine them hitting the ball with all their might, racing around the bases with pursuers hot on their heels, frantic faces concentrating on getting to the goal, last second decisions to slide into the finish. A grunt and shout from Grandpa Home Plate, "Safe".
I wish I had known this man when I was a kid. You know, when I needed a home plate.
Nothing too profound, but the sum of it is nothing short of miraculous. My Dad calls me every week.