Stop, Drop and Blog

I was a very verbal Kindergartener. I know that seems very un-shocking to those who know me, but it’s true. I have a specific memory of standing in our small kitchen underneath the corded, rotary dial phone on the wall. I had to stand on a chair to dial my new friend’s phone number. As we talked about who knows what, I spun myself one way in the long beige cord and then back again. Over and over, back and again.

Once, we had a very dramatic five-year-old fight and I hung up on her. At this point, my mom sat me down and gave me a Very Important Lecture about phone manners. I didn’t hang up on anyone again until college, when hanging up was more about pressing a button and removed the instant gratification about slamming down a receiver. Honestly, it’s no fun to hang up on someone nowadays.

I digress.

My sons occasionally talk on the phone… to grandparents, to FireDad when he is at work, to me when I am traveling. They have never asked to call a friend. Not once. Even the conversations they have with their short list of people could set records for shortest conversations ever. They have other more important things to do. In fact, the only time they care about the phone is when I’m on the phone, especially if it is a business call. It’s less about the phone then and more about me not giving them my undivided attention.

So imagine my shock, horror and amusement yesterday when BigBrother brought home a note from a girl that was doodled with hearts and contained her phone number. He kind of laughed when I pointed it out. His tone insinuated, “Why would I want to talk to a girl on the phone?” I blinked at it and tried to recall my Kindergarten phone conversations. Not one was a boy. I had crushes, but I never actively handed out my phone number to the objects of my affection.

I have at least one thing working in my favor: We have no home telephone. While visiting the fire department recently, one of the other firefighters held a tied-to-the-wall-phone to BigBrother’s ear and he was mesmerized by the sound of the dial tone. He asked to hear it again and again. It was comical — and a sad, nostalgic moment. With this fact in place, any calls to or from small girl-like creatures need to be approved by either myself or my husband. And ask my dad: I never answer my phone.

I’m now using this situation to test social science on an anecdotal basis. If BigBrother actually asks to call this girl in three days, the three day rule is an inherent gene passed down through the male generations. If not, we can either assume that he doesn’t like this girl, that the three day rule is bunk or that talking to a grandma is the only phone conversation with a girl that a five-year-old boy needs to be having at this time.

Or…

Maybe he’s off saving the universe.

(The next time you hear that as a reason why a boy didn’t call you back, maybe you should just believe it.)