The Home Office Chronicles 2

Dad gets a cell phone

The delivery came in a trail of dust right after my first cup of coffee. The dust cloud stopped at my gate and honked once. I was still wearing my pre-shower face but the delivery guy doesn’t scare easily. He was feeding the dogs their We’ll Never Bite the Delivery Guy biscuits as I stumbled up in my all-terrain-bunny-slippers. After a brief discussion about the weather over a cacophony of dog opinions I was back at my desk unwrapping the gem.

It was a cell phone designed exclusively for senior citizens. Advertised in AARP to be easy to use, and, as I quickly discovered, doesn’t break when dropped, but best of all the lighted face of it answered the questions Dad asked me several times a day: “what day is it?”, “what time is it?”, and “what month is it?” He had recently given up asking the year. I could see this little phone would be a snap for my somewhat deaf, somewhat blind and somewhat Alzheimer impaired 87-year-old Dad to use. Another cup of coffee and I was ready to give him his first lesson.

I intercepted him putting on his jacket for his early morning walk. It took some convincing. Having only just gotten used to seeing the rooftops of his childhood Hungarian village on Google Earth and adapting to an electric typewriter to replace his old Royal, the little flip phone intimidated him. He was resistant, he could “never figure it out”, he complained in German. He didn’t need it, he argued in Hungarian. It was too expensive and he would “drop it in the toilet”, he worried in Russian. I fielded the multilingual excuses like the caregiver pro I’d become and flipped the little phone open.

That was it. He was sold. Blinking lights and buttons fascinate him. Pushing electronic buttons is something he does several times a day at the microwave, cooking everything twice just so he can push more buttons. The phone was cunningly programmed to call my cell phone if he pressed “Yes”. We practiced from across the room. We practiced from across the house. We practiced from across the yard. To his amazement it worked every time. He decided to take his new cell phone on his walk and give it the Distance Test. I retreated to my office and the morning Internet news.

He called from the mailbox. “I’m at the mailbox!” he reported. “That’s wonderful Dad”, I replied. He called from the neighbor’s mailbox. “I’m at the neighbor’s mail box!”. “That’s great Dad”, I said. I was feeling good about this. I wouldn’t have to worry when he went for his walks. He called from down the road to say he was walking back. “That’s good Dad”, I said. He called from the mailbox again. “Great, Dad”. From my desk I could see the dogs lined up waiting for grandpa and the inevitable biscuits to come home. Dad stopped at the gate, flipped open his phone and punched the “yes” button. My phone jingled. Dad waved. I waved back and praised his accomplishment once again, remembering how often he had praised me when I first learned to ride a bicycle.

Dad was on a roll now. He called within ten minutes to say he was out of dog biscuits. An entire five minutes went by before I got another urgent dog biscuit call. He called to say he was taking out the trash. He called at noon to say he was having lunch. He called again to say he was going to take a nap. He called to tell me he was in bed taking a nap. He called to tell me he woke up from his nap and he called again to say he was putting on his jacket to walk the dogs around the yard. I told him to just leave a message and I’d get back to him. He left a message. “Don’t forget the dog biscuits!”