I mentioned, in talking about Pat Metheny's "It's For You" last week, that the phrase would soon lose its telephone-related significance. For many it already has, but I suppose the majority of people now living would at least recognize it, even if it hasn't been part of their lives for a while.
I suppose it hasn't been part of mine, either, for a while, because my wife has used her mobile phone almost exclusively for a long time, and although I was several years behind her I was going that way, too. For a year or two now we have rarely gotten a call on our home phone that wasn't a sales or fund-raising pitch, or a political robo-call. A few months ago it stopped working, and weeks passed before we even bothered to do anything about it. Attempting to report it–via the web, of course–we were taken through a series of trouble-shooting steps only to be told in the end that there was something wrong with our equipment, and that it couldn't be fixed. Of course it could have been, if we had pressed the issue. But what would be the point? We had hardly missed it, only checking–again, via the web–every day or two to see if we had any voicemail messages.
So, after several hours in the AT&T store, and on the phone with AT&T customer support, we transferred our home number to my mobile phone, and cancelled the home phone. (I kept that number because for over twenty years it's been the number known to family, friends, and businesses, and very few people other than my wife ever called my mobile number.) Lots and lots of people are doing this, of course. I'm not sure any of my children have ever had a "land line" phone of their own.
I'm tempted to draw some kind of conclusion about social fragmentation from this. But really, aren't we all a little tired of saying and hearing things like that? What really strikes me more is a mild nostalgia, and a sense that the world in which I grew up is passing away. Fourteen years into the twenty-first century, we are leaving the culture of the twentieth behind in more and more ways. I'm always inclined to think things in general are getting worse, and always having a conversation with myself about whether that's really true. But it does seem to me that many of the hopes of the twentieth have faded, especially the hope that followed the Second World War, at least in this country; it seems a meaner world, all in all, notwithstanding the fact that we then had the threat of global nuclear war hanging over our heads–that was the big picture, but the nearer picture held promise.
The family telephone seems quaint and old-fashioned now. This morning at breakfast my wife and I were discussing the old rhyme that children not quite into adolescence used to tease each other with, when a boy or girl was suspected of liking a girl or boy. Using our names, it would go:
Mac and Karen, settin' in a tree
K-I-S-S-I-N-G
First comes love, then comes marriage
Then comes Karen with a bay-bee carriage
That seems pretty quaint and old-fashioned, too.
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