CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW?

(written Fall 2006)

My relationship with the telephone has been long and troubled.

I grew up in a home with five children and - believe it or not, kids - not only one phone line, but only one phone. Weird, but when it rang you knew exactly where it was because it was connected to the wall. And it was so heavy a similar model was used as a murder weapon in the movie Dial M For Murder.

My sisters and I all arrived at dating age around the same. time. We had a mother who was ABSOLUTELY scrupulous about telling the truth. So, in other words, you didn't dare say:
If so and so calls, tell him I'm not home
If so and so calls, tell him I'm dead.
If John Yenny calls, I'M HERE!

So, it was not unusual for the phone to ring and all three girls run out the front door. From the front yard we would hear my mother say, "No, I'm sorry. She's not here." On a good day, she would tell you who the call was for, as in: Theresa, that was for you. No matter how good the day, you hardly ever heard who it was that called. If it was a guy on the other end of the phone, no message was taken, since we girls were not allowed to return the call.

So all my life, when the phone rang, I have either bolted out the front door or dived for the phone in the ridiculous hope that it was either John Yenny or Ed McMahon with news that I had won the Publishers' Clearinghouse.

But now I have reached a point in my live more memorable than turning 30, more life-changing than turning 40 and more depressing than the prospect of turning 50.

When the phone rings I completely ignore it.

I have gotten to the point where I have given up on EdMcMahon and anyone worthwhile leaves a message. Now that I think about it, even those of no worth leave a message. Does the DNC, RNC and the carpet cleaning company REALLY think I listen to those recordings.

The phone is never for either of my teenagers, so there is no need to answer the phone to find out who they are currently talking to. Both teenagers have cell phones and my only involvement with the telephone aspect of their lives is paying the bill. I had the illusion that I would actually study the bills and see who they were calling and vice verse. Doesn't happen. My perusal of the bills is limited to who stayed within their minutes and who downloaded the AC/DC ring tone.

I made a serious attempt to read their text messages, but apparently their second language studies are going well cuz I c-not understand a word.

The phone is occasionally for one of the little guys. I hear them on the phone grunting for several minutes. Then they hang up.
I ask: Who was it.
They answer: No one.
I ask: What did you talk about?
They answer: Nothing.

Short of getting out a harsh light and rubber hose, I'm not sure how much more involved the law allows me, as a parent, to be.

In the meantime, not answering the phone has become second nature; I just have to tell the little guys I am definitely home if Ed McMahon ever gets around to calling with news on the Publishers' Clearing House.