PHONE PHOBIC

I glance at the clock on my car's dashboard.  It reads 18:57...I drive a cool British car...but that time means I'm nearly late.  Not now!  I've come too far to be late.  I double check the address and, sure enough, this is it.  A tired brick school building slumped on the edge of an asphalt parking lot/playground.  I pull in under one of the few lights, take a deep breath, and walk toward the building.  There's not a star in the sky. It's chilly with a bit of wind, and the whole scene couldn't be more daunting.  But...If I don't do this now it will never get done.  Do it!

I run up the steps, tug at the door, and find a long hallway as dim as that parking lot.  But, slightly ahead and to my right harsh fluorescent light is pouring out from an open classroom.  Do it!  Go for the light!  I suck in  my tummy, throw back my shoulders and begin the long walk.  Dear God, the room looks just like I feared.  On my left, an ancient coffee-urn is sputtering and spitting.  Everyone is balancing a Styrofoam cup while dragging a really disgusting  folding chair into a circle toward the middle of the room.  Don't run away.  Do it!

I spot a few smiles and a welcoming glance here and there.  I pour a little coffee laced with grounds, reach tentatively for a chair and join the circle.  Everyone looks my way.  "Hello," I manage.  My voice quivers just a bit and I'm breathless.  "My name is Margie and I'm a Phone Phobic."

WHAAA?

Yes, I'm a Phone Phobic.  And, yes, I'm as confused as you are.  I spent virtually all of my teen-age years with a 20 foot phone cord wrapped around myself chattering on the family phone.  My father reluctantly agreed to let the telephone company install that cord so that I wasn't tied to the tiny phone niche located in our hall.  With 20 feet, I could carry that phone into my bedroom, the family bathroom, my parents' bedroom and the dining room.  Our phone number was 539.  When dial reached Dodge City, our number changed to HUnter 3-4453.  I remember feeling terribly New Yorkish when that happened.

But sometime between those glory days and now I became a Phone Phobic.  I think it came on gradually.  I don't remember being especially traumatized by the phone at any point in time.  I dialed with impunity all during my 20s.  With three daughters sharing one phone I fought hard for my phone time during my 30s.  Maybe it started in my 40s?  I think it worsened in my 50s, and became downright debilitating in my 60s.  It hasn't helped that I live with BC.  BC loves the phone.  BC happily calls his daughters, his son, his brothers, his friends from early morning until well into the evening hours.  He's happiest when he's holding a phone.  BC "butt-calls" virtual strangers, and generally ends up with a new best friend.  BC, unfortunately, is an enabler. He is more than happy to make the calls I dread.  BC has fed my habit. 

So, even though I haven't told my Life Coach that I'm a phone phobic...outgoing only,  I'm fine with incoming...I decided I had gathered enough tools to begin working on this problem.  Today, I had a difficult phone call to make and BC is fishing in Oklahoma.  Obviously, I  was in trouble

I began to pace from one end of the house to the other proclaiming, "I am enjoying calling my friends and visiting with them."  Over and over and over.  Then...I did it.  I called a friend who is experiencing a difficult time.  I told her how I was keeping her in my heart.  I promised to offer a prayer now and then for her.  I listened.  She cried--just a little.  She told me how grateful she was that I called.  She was grateful that I called?  Not nearly as grateful as I was that I called.  She has no idea that I'm a Phone Phobic or how hard it was for me to tap those buttons.  But I do.  And I feel so grateful that I was able to help her through her day.  And, I have kept her in my heart all day and I have whispered a few prayers heavenward for her.  And I will continue to do that.  A promise is a promise.  That one won't be hard to keep.