This is really going to show my age, but the first memory I have of a telephone was the party line that we shared with a handful of other families in our neighborhood when I was young. Any time you picked up the phone to make a call, you might break into someone else’s conversation. The polite thing to do was hang up and try again later when you guessed the other call had concluded. That being said, as children, me and my brothers would sometimes try to listen in on other people’s conversations, thinking we’d be quiet enough that they wouldn’t notice us on one end of the line. I don’t recall that ever working, but I do recall getting yelled at by irate ladies who didn’t like us eavesdropping.
By the mid-1970s we had a private line. And one phone, near the front entrance of our house, with a bench conveniently located next to it with had two drawers—one for office-type things such as envelopes, scissors, and tape, and the other for the local phone directory. Seeing that we lived in a small city, it was maybe half-an-inch wide, and that included the addresses and phone numbers for all the local citizens and businesses, and information for other small municipalities within maybe a 20-mile radius.
That phone, olive green if I recall, was mounted on the wall and had a cord from the hand set to the base that was probably twenty feet long. When I was in my middle-school years, that allowed me to get as far away from my mom—who always seemed to be listening—as possible. If she was in the kitchen, I’d stretch that cord to the front room. If she was in the dining room, I could make it as far as the walk-in back entryway closet.
Since there was no texting back in the day, any plans I made with my friends was done either in person at school or on the telephone. Setting up an impromptu softball game meant numerous calls to my classmates. We’d even do phone trees to speed up the process. The phone was an important part of my social life.
In college, it was even more essential. My boyfriend at the time, now my husband, lived two hours away from where I went to school. We talked long distance every night. I can remember phone bills running $35 to $40 per month back in our courting days. Did I mention that when you talked on those classic phones that the handset heated up? By the time you finished a 45-minute conversation, you could barely touch the thing without burning your fingertips.
As a young mother with four little ones born over the span of six-and-a-half years, the telephone was my lifeline. I had a group of friends who were all in the same boat with me, full-time moms with a slew of little ones. By this time, cordless handsets were available, so I could chase kiddos down, change diapers, or cook dinner with my neck crooked to keep the phone in place on my shoulder as I talked. Those friends and our daily conversations helped me make it through those demanding years. Before websites, we were the resources for each other as we figured out parenting.
Cellphones came onto the scene when our oldest daughter was in college. It certainly would’ve been nice if she’d had one when she was studying in France her junior year. When my husband and I flew over to visit her, it was almost a miracle that we ran into her in a hallway in one of the class buildings on her campus, or we could still be wandering around Angers looking for her.
All four children eventually got cellphones, one or two in college, the others in high school. At that time, phones were for calling each other. Texting didn’t hit the scene until our youngest was in high school. At the time, each text was recorded on the monthly phone bill and we were charged for it. When her texting count hit 900-plus a month, it was time for an intervention—and for her to dig into her allowance to help cover the bill.
After that came smart phones, which had more knowledge packed inside each one than an entire library. Our kids by then were young adults so they were paying their own bills, and we weren’t monitoring their usage. The Internet showcases the best of humanity and the worst of humanity. I can’t even imagine how difficult it is to shelter children from everything that’s on there today, as anything you seek out (or aren’t even actively seeking out) is there at the tap of a finger. I just pray that parents can protect their children from the darkness that’s lurking behind those screens.
It’s interesting to see how phone usage has evolved. It was great when all the kids finally had cellphones and we could have conversations to stay in touch. Or we could get a hold of friends and family, no matter where they were, as their phones weren’t tethered to their homes anymore. That being said, I seldom call people anymore. At least, not without texting first to see if they have time to talk.
A phone call almost feels like an invasion of someone’s time or privacy. And, if you do decide to reach out to someone—particularly those humans that you brought into the world, do not leave a voicemail. No one has time to listen to them. If you can’t leave a message (short and to the point) via texting, then the standard thing to do is send a brief note asking them to call you. And if you don’t want to be accused of texting like a Boomer, leave off the punctuation.
Cellphone technology certainly has its advantages. Video calls or FaceTiming being right at the top. Five of our eight grandchildren live out of state, and this is an amazing way to stay connected with them. Now we’re to the point where some of them are old enough to initiate the calls between us. And so far, they seem to enjoy interacting with Grandpa and Grandma that way. But, if they get bored with the conversation, they all know where the red “End” button is on the phone. So far, our kids haven’t done that to us yet. But my mom and dad have been known to end conversations abruptly. That’s communication in the 21st century. Who knows where it will go next.