The phone rang this afternoon. Oldest was on the line, breathless from a volleyball victory. I am always delighted when he calls, mainly because I adore him, but also because he so rarely calls. He’s a text-based creature these days. iChat? definitely. Text messages on his cell? absolutely. Email? but of course. But the phone, uh, I don’t think so. It so…so…nineties.
We chatted about the game and his new classes as he walked across the cold campus from the gym to his dorm. He opened the door to his dorm and then I heard knocking.
“Why are you knocking on your own door?”
“I lent my keys to someone. I was hoping Frank (his roommate) would be here. Damn. Now I have to call security.”
He put me on hold and then I heard a click.
“Hey, you can help me. You Aunt K is wondering if she should allow O to go to a coed sleep-over after prom. What do you think?”
“What grade is she in?”
He worked the problem silently for about fifteen seconds.
“If every one of her friends is going, they should let her go. But if not, tenth grade is kind of young.”
I was silently admiring his sage advice when it hit me. He is only talking to me because he has nothing else to do. He’s stuck waiting for security. If I had any pride, I would have hung up right then, but I guess the pride disappeared around the same time as my ability to stay up past 10:30. I heard a commotion on the line.
“Is that security?”
“No, it’s a couple of kids carrying 30 packs of beer.”
“Sheesh, I had no idea it was such a party school.”
“Oh, yeah, it’s the number 2 stoner school in the country.”
As I turned this one over in my head, my beloved Oldest let out a loud, “AHHHH. I’m so BORED.”
Alrighty then. Perhaps it’s time for me to become text-only.