Phone Home

When I was little, I used to visit my Grandparents in Rhode Island for a few weeks in the summer. If we called my mother ever, it would happen maybe once, usually at the end of our stay, at night, after the bath but before bed, when my hair was still wet and the phone rates were cheap. Nana would sit in the chair by the heavy black phone and dial the number and then hand me the receiver. There’d be a long sound sssssshhhhhhh before I could hear a low froggy ring that sounded muffled and under water (my grandparents lived out in the country surrounded by corn fields and tree farms). My Mom would answer, Hello?, and her voice sounded so strange I barely recognized it. We’d talk for a minute or two and then quickly say goodbye.

When Mo was little, she used to go to her grandmother’s house for a few weeks in the summer. We couldn’t talk on the phone because it was too upsetting. We missed each other, and the phone calls inevitably ended in tears, so it was better to avoid the distraction of hearing each other’s voice. And really, what did she need to talk to me for? She was having a fantastic time in a beautiful (and not boring) place with lots of people who loved her. Instead, each summer visit, I would send her some letters and a care package.

You know where this is headed.

Dar has been visiting her grandmother for 2 days so far and I have gotten 87 texts, calls and emailed photos. A few calls at 11 pm. I haven’t heard from Harry though I’m not sure if it’s because he’s too busy playing, or if he’s not into the cell phone world yet, or if he’s a guy (probably a combination of all three). It would be easy, and boring, for me to talk about the good old days when kids had the ability to focus and keep themselves busy and happy with a spoon and a pile of dirt. But I think they can still do all those things: crack each other up pressing their faces on the back screen-door, run around catching fireflies, have water-gun fights and text their friends, post pictures on facebook, and call home.

I’m the one who can’t.