The Unbroken Phone

This story isn’t about me but when I heard it I told my father I was going to have to write about it.   My father is excellent at evaluating a problem and figuring out a solution.   He is particularly good if the problem involves some complex piece of machinery.  However some things can’t be fixed, they’re just broken.

Technology is one of those things that’s hard to fix because you can’t operate on the level of micro miniaturization that comes along with computers and their associated peripherals making up our technological world these days.   What that means is that sometimes when something isn’t working, my father can’t fix it.    Take the phone in his workroom in the basement.   For almost two years now he’s had an issue with him being able to hear callers, but they can’t hear him talking back.

Since the phone was one of four handsets they had around the house, getting the one replaced would likely mean getting a whole new system with multiple handsets.    So he muddled through, going upstairs when needed to talk on a handset that worked.

This week he’d just about had it and was ready to chuck the phone when he decided to assess the situation and see if he there was anything he could do.   The phone looked fine.   It didn’t have any visible damage.   There was even a label my mother had conveniently put on the phone that said, “workshop” so it could always find its way home to be charged.

Only…wait a minute, my father thought—and then he laughed.   My very organized mother had placed a label on the phone and had accidentally covered the microphone hole.   Two years, stymied by a little sticky piece of paper placed there to help.    His phone is now happily unbroken and he can keep tinkering while talking on the phone, possibly calling to tell me other funny stories like this one.

The Big Boy Update:  Uncle Brian was watching my son playing Minecraft today.  Uncle Brian remarked that it looked like it was raining in the game.   No, my son told him, “the Earth has to pee.”

The Tiny Girl Chronicles:  My daughter wanted to sit in, let us call it, “Car Seat A” on the ride home from dinner.   I told her to come back and sit in, “Car Seat B” beside me.   No, no no, she only had eyes for Car Seat A she said.   Then my son said that sure, she could have that seat.  He’d gladly take the seat beside me he said as he hopped in it.  Which means my daughter changed her mind in a split second and the only seat she wanted in the world was the one beside me, now occupied by her brother.   She wouldn’t budge.   She tried to sit on him.   We started the car moving out of the parking space and yet she stood (literally) firm.  So after three warnings about getting into the seat she’d initially asked for and being told she’d lose dessert if she didn’t, she lost dessert privileges.  You should have seen the wailing and crying that went on (no, on second thought, you really didn’t want to see it).   My daughter was sent to her room crying about being hungry.   She could come out, but not if she was crying and wailing.   She had eaten a huge dinner so her little, “I’m hungry” ploy wasn’t very clever and fooled zero adults.   It was one of those great lesson learning crying tantrums.   And I smiled to myself, knowing next time there wouldn’t be so much resistance.    She calmed down eventually and then typed on her brailler, showing Uncle Bob and Uncle Brian how she could type.    Aside from not being able to spell things, she can pretty much type anything she wants—and she can do it fast too.