Hark! The Herald angels are singing during my father's 6 a.m. 'Butch' fest.

6 a.m. - lighter. smoke.

6:02 a.m. - coffee made.

6:10 a.m. - Bryan awakes. Groggy. Not a morning person.

6:20 a.m. - Dad greets Bryan in a talkative mood, drinking coffee. (Does he know his mouth runs like a whipperwill's ass this early in the morning?)

6:30 a.m. - Coffee kicks in. Bryan is more tolerant with listening. Butch complains about all the electronic devices 'beeping' and 'booping' - "It's like a goddamn arcade in this house." He fiddles with the iPad. Sips coffee.

6:31 a.m. - "Bryan, do you hear that? Did your mother leave her cellphone on? There's something singing?

6:32 a.m. - "I don't hear anything dad."

6:33 a.m. - "I've been hearing the songs all morning. It's singing. One of these goddamn machines is making noise. It's driving me nuts" Sips more coffee.

6:34 a.m. - "Dad, I'm not hearing it. Let me drink my coffee and read my paper."

6:35 a.m. - "What are you doing up this early, anyway? Your mother yelled at me in her sleep again last night. She didn't come to bed until 2 a.m. She's impossible....wait, there it is again. It's a phone ringing."

6:36 a.m. - "I don't hear it."

6:37 a.m. - "Seriously. Listen." He sips more coffee. "Let me call you sweetheart" begins chiming out of his songbird coffee mug.

6:38 a.m. - "Dad, that noise is you. It's your musical coffee mug."

6:39 a.m. - "Oh, that's why I've been hearing it all morning." Another sip.

And that was my first 29 minutes after waking up in Syracuse for the holiday break.