Like clockwork, I can count on the newspaper arriving at my door. Literally, on the mat in front of our door.
This is not because we have an outstanding paper delivery person. No, that guy throws the paper at the end of our driveway, which, if you know us, is quite a distance from our house.
But without fail, my dad scoops up his paper and ours, and like Santa Claus, makes a stealth delivery to our front door. I never asked him to do it. He just does it because he’s just a good, kind Papa Joe kinda guy.