Yesterday I missed a call on my phone from my father, who is on holiday in Samoa. The message he left was unusual; he said he wanted to chat (which he never does; he occasionally says he wants to talk to me, but that's usually in person and because I've asked to borrow money again), and ended with him asking how Vincent's birthday was and that he loves us both, especially me. He will often say to give Vincent his love, but never straight out that he loves him; there's always the line that exists between a father and the man who is jonesing his daughter. Something special had happened.
Today I found out what.
Sometimes wonderful things happen. Just as wonderful as the win: my Dad being in Samoa for it, with my cousins whom he loves and with whom he will have loved to share it. And as much as I'd love to have been there too, I had my own wonderful time when I got to work to have my very diverted boss (who knows and likes my Dad, and had just read about the win in the paper) play me the message Dad had left on the work answerphone, a) on a Sunday, when we are closed, b) on a Sunday, which I never work, and c) on a Sunday when he knew I was away. I love my Dad.
And now I'm excited about the World Cup.