Some numbers are drilled into your head forever. Birthdays. Anniversaries. Social Insurance Numbers.
And then there鈥檚 phone numbers.
The first phone number I remember is 594-2650. That鈥檚 my Dad鈥檚 number. It鈥檚 the number I grew up with. My hands could dial it without looking. The 426 makes a nice diamond pattern.
Back when they had 鈥渢ouch tone phones鈥� 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鈥檚 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鈥檛 have the same number anymore. It鈥檚 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鈥檚 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鈥檛 want to know it. I鈥檓 attached to the old number, and there鈥檚 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鈥檚 great for the grandkids to have face-to-face contact with their grandparents. Too bad Mom and Brad鈥檚 acreage has crappy cellular coverage and can鈥檛 get high speed internet.
It took Dad a while to figure it out, but I think he鈥檚 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鈥檙e 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, he 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鈥檚 still amazed how calls these days are as clear as if they were next door. That鈥檚 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鈥檚 kind of like when you grow up and move away from home. They鈥檙e 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 now change phone numbers between providers, we鈥檝e now reached the point where one person can have the same number basically for life. I鈥檓 not sure why Dad couldn鈥檛 change his landline number over to the cellphone, as I thought at was possible. But essentially, with plans that include unlimited long distance now commonplace, once you get a cellular number, there鈥檚 not much point in changing it.
Eventually I will get used to Dad鈥檚 new number. There鈥檚 no real reason to be attached to this number or that number. After all, it鈥檚 just a series of digits. It doesn鈥檛 have some special meaning. It just doesn鈥檛 feel right to change.
Besides, who really needs a number anymore anyhow? 鈥淗ey Siri, call Dad.鈥�
鈥淥kay, calling Dad.鈥�
