Mr. Watson to the Courtesy Phone

Growing up, one of the things that was a universal truth, was the later in the day a phone call came, the less likely it was to be good news. In my family as kids, we knew better than to phone home after 8 PM, no matter what, or no matter where we were. This was in the rotary dial no-such-thing-as caller-ID ear of telephones; and, of course, only landlines (a term we never used because it’s all there was).

With my 70^th birthday in the rear-view mirror I am, all the adult I am ever going to be.

The growing old part worked too well while the growing up part hasn’t really happened at all. I still get nervous entering a darkened room and will search for the light switch even if I'm only passing through. And phone calls now? I’m a cheater when it comes to my cell phone. I don’t turn the ringer on and don’t have it set to vibrate, so I miss every call. And when someone complains I tell them ‘I have a cell phone for my convenience, not yours.’

My wife and I still have a landline in our house and even with, or especially because of, caller ID, when the phone rings in the evening, I am always somewhat startled (wary might be a better word). The telephone takes two rings to display the name and number of the caller, and I stand, transfixed, waiting for that moment.

Despite 'do not call' registries, I get a lot of callers who only want to talk about expired car warranties and credit card balances, for the most part, and I’ve steeled myself to no longer answer the phone when I don’t recognize the name or number.  

However, when it’s the name and number of one of our children in the display, I start making horror movies in my head. I mutter 'please don't be anything bad' at least three hundred times between the second ring, which triggers the display, and the third ring which never comes because I’ve answered the phone.

Both think it's hilarious their old man breaks out in a sweat when they call him after dark. If my wife answers the phone, I pace and fret within eyesight and earshot, lest she forgets to tell me about a cataclysmic catastrophe that has befallen one of them. (So far, so good.)

When we brought them home from the hospital, with that 'new baby smell', I used to sit in a corner of their room and watch them sleep. I was fascinated by their breathing and any and every movement they made while in their crib. I had no need for television-I had found my must-see and did so many times, for many hours, as they grew up.

As an adult, I can understand and internalize the realization that we cannot protect our children, in my case adults, themselves now, from every evil and misfortune in a world that grows scarier by the day but when the evening arrives and the phone rings at night, my rational, inner grown-up is nowhere to be found. And all the me that is there can do is stare at the ringing phone and hope the monster in the dark disappears by the time I answer.
-bill kenny