Some numbers are drilled into your head forever. Birthdays. Anniversaries. Social Insurance Numbers.
And then there’s phone numbers.
The first phone number I remember is 594-2650. That’s my Dad’s number. It’s the number I grew up with. My hands could dial it without looking. The 426 makes a nice diamond pattern.
Back when they had “touch tone phones” that could also be switched to pulse, I could dial it simply by clicking the main button. A few years ago it had 306 tacked onto the front, but through my whole life, it was my Dad’s number, and for the early years, mine, too.
So it is very difficult for me these days to pick up the phone and call Dad, because he doesn’t have the same number anymore. It’s gone to the winds, or at least call forwarding for the next few months.
Back in June I wrote about people cutting the cord for television and landline telephones. Well, Dad did exactly that with the landline, and it’s saving him a good chunk of money each month, too.
Now I have to go through the directory I programmed into the cordless phone at home, or my contacts on my iPhone, because my mind simply will not associate Dad with his cell number. I know it, but part of me doesn’t want to know it.
I’m attached to the old number, and there’s a slight possibility I might have change issues.
I encouraged Dad strongly to get an iPhone, just as I had a few years earlier with my mom and stepdad. That way we can use FaceTime to chat on occasion.
It’s great for the grandkids to have face-to-face contact with their grandparents. Too bad Mom and Brad’s acreage has crappy cellular coverage and can’t get high speed Internet.
It took Dad a while to figure it out, but I think he’s got the basics, now. Voicemail still eludes him, and one of these days my kids will school him on it.
Dad likes it because he no longer has to run to the phone, which, when you’re 74, is not as easy as when you were 30 or 40.
Our farm had an outside ringer for the phone, you know, an actual bell. Many a time as a teenager I could sprint across the yard and get to the phone before someone hung up. Now, Dad just keeps it in his pocket.
His phone landline was deteriorating, too, with horrible static. No need to repair it now. The wireless cellphone seems to work fine.
He’s still amazed how calls these days are as clear as if they were next door. That’s probably because he remembers the days of copper-wire telephone calls where long distance truly did make a difference on call quality.
But I keep coming back to this number thing. Sure, people change numbers all the time, right?
But not your parents. You never expect your parents to change. It’s kind of like when you grow up and move away from home. They’re not supposed to change your bedroom, like, ever, until they do.
So now his number is attached to a person, not a place. It goes to him, not the house.
With the ability to change phone numbers between providers, we’ve now reached the point where one person can have the same number basically for life.
I’m not sure why Dad couldn’t change his landline number over to the cellphone, as I thought was possible. But essentially, with plans that include unlimited long distance now commonplace, once you get a cellular number, there’s not much point in changing it.
Eventually I will get used to Dad’s new number. There’s no real reason to be attached to this number or that number. After all, it’s just a series of digits. It doesn’t have some special meaning. It just doesn’t feel right to change.
Besides, who really needs a number anymore anyhow? “Hey Siri, call Dad.”
“Okay, calling Dad.”
