Maybe we are not the only ones, but at birthday parties for my kids – and now grand ones – the cake ceremony has been rendered the opportunity to belt out your absolute worst rendition of “Happy Birthday” ever.

A cacophony of the off-key, off-kilter, off-rhyme, off-everything by all in attendance. As long as it maintained a “G” rating, anything was allowed. Atrocious acapella. Raspy rhythms. Squealing. Animal sounds. Flatulence.

Provided you remained in “Happy Birthday”, all bets were off.

Can’t you tell how much she loved hers?

Now, two things have since happened.

First, since my kids have all growed up and left the nest and have the latest version of an Apple or Android, the old man calls them early on their birthday and leaves a sonnet on their voicemail. You have no idea how well you can sing hands free in a car making your way to your first call. Only once has one of them answered the phone. Sorry to say, he got the live version. I bet his ears are still ringing.

Second, now that I have three grandkids, they too get a voicemail version of “Happy Birthday” from the old fart. I just coordinate with momma and let it rip.

I hear it makes them giggle and laugh.

I bet mine do too.

They just won’t admit it.

But I will.