family stories

Did you know that the month of November is Family Stories Month? I didn't either until about an hour ago, but now that I know, I must celebrate it! Here is one of my favorite family stories .. and you can expect many more coming over the month:)

When I was about 15, I wanted what every 15 year old wants ... a personal telephone line. I dreamed of having my very own phone line with my very own cordless phone, and I pictured myself lying on the bed, leisurely twirling my hair as I talked to my friends in total privacy.

After what I'm sure was consistent begging, my parents indulged me, and I got my very own phone line and my very own white cordless phone that I immediately bedazzled with countless stick-on jewels. Fabulous! My bliss was short lived, however, as that night I received my first phone call. It was about 2 in the morning, and I just remember being highly offended, because the conversation went something like this:

Me: Hello?
Guy: Hey James!
Me: James?
Guy: Where are you?
Me: This isn't James.
Guy: ((hangs up))

Little did I know that this was the first of many, many middle-of-the-night phone calls I would receive. Every night, at least once or twice, the phone would ring for Mr. Popular. Over the months I managed to piece together that his name was James Whittigton, and that he was a truck driver. Apparently he had given out his cell phone number to countless fellow truck drivers, and they liked to call each other in the middle of the night to keep each other awake. Mr. Whittington had gotten himself a new cell phone, and I was the unwitting recpient of his old number.

For months I got these calls, and it became a bit of a joke around the house (my siblings would ask me "how many calls did James get last night?" and I would mumble out the grand total) until one day I walked downstairs for breakfast to find my mama smiling mischeviously over the newspaper.

Mama: "Guess who died!"
Me: "Who?"
Mama: "JAMES WHITTINGTON"

Sweet, sweet relief.

Sure enough, the phone calls more or less came to a screeching halt that very night, and I'd almost forgotten about the whole thing until the phone rang in the middle of the night - months later.

Me: Hello?
Guy: Hey! Is James there?
Me: Ummmmm. Nooooooo? He's-uhhh ... He's not ... here ... right ... now.
Guy: Oh, OK! No problem! :click:

I'm not really sure that I did the right thing by just saying he wasn't "here ..uhh.. right now", but in the heat of the moment and at 15 years of age, it was the best I could do. Besides, as far as I know, there isn't an Emily Post article addressing how one should break the news of a loved one's passing to a truck driver that is calling the wrong number in the middle of the night to talk to someone that you don't even know personally and only know of their passing via your mother's routine of skimming the obituaries every morning.