Southern Hospitality

Just a few days ago I put a call into my mother (aka Bama) for no reason other than to say hello and see about her day. Since Joseph loves to get on the phone these days (though, talking isn't always part of that), he was quick to usurp the reciever from my grip and carry in and intriguing conversation that, from his end, went something like this:

"Hi, Bama.....uh huh.....yea......yea.....bye bye.......where's Papa?"

Since Papa was at work, my mother suggested that we call him at the office. Hoping we weren't interrrupting an important meeting or more important nap, I quickly dialed his office number and handed the phone back to Joseph. Again, the call went something like this:

"Hi Papa....are you at work?.......yea.....yea....playing with O........fire truck.....Mommy's right here....okay ......bye bye."

Thrilled that a substantial back and forth of information had occurred, I scooped up the phone to greet my dad who was chuckling on the end.

"Hi, Dad," I greeted.

"Uh, hello there," he responded.....only it wasn't him. It was a man, it had a strong Southern drawl, and it seemed to have enjoyed the conversation even more than Joseph. It then said:

"Now, I don't know who Papa is, but I'm pretty sure he ain't me."

"Oh, I'm sorry....must have....wrong number," I stumbled, trying to figure out what number I'd actually dialed.

"Ha! That's quite all right. That little guy can give me a call any time. Have a good one."

Still a little startled, I turned to Joseph who was still stationed nearby, playing quietly with his Mater car.

What did I miss?