Call Me Maybe

I accidentally put that song, far too popular on the radio years ago, on my IPod. Twice in one album, actually. So whenever I hear it while running, I usually “skip” as fast as I can. Not literally, just listening. But that might be fun for tired legs.

During my last distance training run, when “Call Me Maybe” came up, I ran faster, thinking of my “tween” with a cell phone. Yes, she is 10 and she has one, a birthday gift so she could text her already tween friends and her dad, despite the drama the device has created between us (shocker).

You can call me lots of things but not “maybe” on the cell phone. It has been quite the friend to me when it comes to work, friends, dating, learning who might know each other better than I expected in my life.

Most of all, the only child turned single mom in me needs this (on it now headed home from work) desperately. I read the news, find out who among friends I don’t see anymore is traveling, working, celebrating a birthday. Every day I wish I talked on it more. Most days it’s because I’m working, on the “quiet car” on the train, or have kids who need my attention.

But I must admit, it always makes me miss the old days of land lines. The kind of phones my kids will never know. The kind my generation was the last to know. The kind that forced us to memorize every number. It was like a contest. We knew dozens of numbers for friends, family members, neighbors, eventually boyfriends, (sorry John) and our parents at work. We had to call and ask for those people, then sit by the phone at a certain time if someone was supposed to call back. If it was important enough.

We got to know voices by heart, family members too, like it or not, and there was a trick to calling and hanging up on a crush so they couldn’t hit *69 and call back. Those were the days right?

The key is that we spoke, learned some serious phone manners and we certainly never had to wonder whether devices were more important than people. People made a lot more eye contact in the 90’s and didn’t get to text when they were afraid to talk about something.

I still know my mom’s old downtown Chicago work number because I fell asleep memorizing it. My mom also managed to take our land line phone number of the dinosaur ages and make it her cell phone number. Coolest cell move ever, and that was before cells were so darn “smart.” I just cashed a check using mine but I haven’t stopped wondering whether the teller jobs are at risk, and how those girls are doing.

So my new goal, as the mom of a new tween, is to get my girl to remember to use her phone to call. To know numbers. To stay in touch with friends, new and old, using her voice. And to put the phone down from time to time, give it a rest.

Let’s see if I can take my own advice, too.