Once upon a time, there were no cell phones. If you weren't home to receive a call, they left a message on an answering machine. You called them back. No big deal.
I remember these olden days of no cell phones. I remember those old rotary phones. Didn't you just love those?
Most of all, I remember something my dad gave me, back in my young and stupid teenage years. It was an 800 number. Now, that may not seem like a big deal to some of you. At first I didn't understand. The 800 number came with a code and then my own pin code. The 800 number was a phone account through his company. The first code was to his automatic messaging system, and my pin code was for messages for me.
The first time I tried this 800 number, the message said something like this, "Hey, it's dad. I'm making sure this is working. If it does, leave me a message. Love ya." I was over the top thrilled. At any time of day or night, I could just leave him a message. This came in handy over my crazy, drunken and stoned teenaged years. It was nice to hit up a payphone, free dial the 800 number and hear his messages. They were usually short and sweet. "Hey. Just checking in on ya. Love ya." I looked forward to those.
It has been several years since I've dialed that number for a couple of reasons. One, I'm not that idiotic teenager anymore. Two, I've been clean and sober for over a decade.
I don't know why, but I almost want to check that 800 number. Is it still up? Has he left a message that I didn't receive? I can still hear the sound each of those numbers made as I dialed them. It was like a beautiful and familiar song. I like familiarity. It makes me feel warm and humble again.