Aging Is Funny

I don't like to think about my parents getting older. Maybe it's because I know if they're getting older, that means I am too. I prefer to picture us years ago, when I had naturally dark hair and I still held high hopes my mom would figure out email.

I'm still waiting for her first email. My mom sends lots of snail mail, often with articles clipped from newspapers that have nothing to do with my everyday life. Sometimes she even sends helpful hints; like how to remove grass stains from white pants. I once emailed her photos of my kids and her head nearly exploded.

"The photos are attached," I told her.

"Attached? Attached to what?"

Fortunately, my dad is much better with technology, although he won't open anything with an attachment, viruses! The good news is my folks have branched out into text messaging, I discovered this a couple months ago when they sent me a text message together that said: "Hello, this is a test from your parents, let us know when you get this." I quickly responded, "I got it!" I haven't heard from them since, at least not by text anyway.

I do receive lots of phone calls—those are always welcome. But I also receive a lot voicemails, and they can be wildly alarming. My dad has always been my role model, but his voicemails have grown from comically confusing to downright stress-inducing. Here’s just one of the voicemails I recently received:

"Lysa, Hello, it's your dad"

Really long pause

"Hello?"

"Lysa, it's dad ..."

“Hello, hello, hello, hello!”

“LYYYSSAA, IT’S DAD!!!”

You might see what's happening here. I think my dad gets a little flustered, which is understandable at his age. Except that he does this every time he leaves a message. Still no big deal. That’s my dad. Most of my dad’s voicemails are funny. After he establishes who he is, just in case I forget, he moves on to the actual message but it’s like deciphering the Davinci Code.

"Lysa, I just want to tell you ..."

Then another long pause. I don’t know if my dad forgot what he was going to say or if my mom distracted him with God only knows what. None-the-less, the silence is stretched out for an extended period. It’s during this silence I can’t figure out if he’s struggling to break some bad news or if he set the phone down and moved on to something else. Either way, it makes me very anxious. Seriously, his delay is sometimes three to four seconds long. I should time it: one Mississippi (something is wrong with mom), two Mississippi (his computer really does have a virus), three Mississippi (the house is on fire, that can’t be it, he’s calling from his landline). For the love of cheese, spit it out dad, what is it?

"... I watched the Ducks game the other night. What a game, did you see that score! Give me a call when you get a chance.” That's it? That long dramatic pause that literally took years off my life was to rev up to talk about an ice hockey game? Yes, that was it. Here’s the funny thing, I did call my dad back and we had a nice conversation about the weather, my kids, and politics (his favorite). We also got around to talking about the hockey game, although I never did tell him his voice mail put more gray hair on my head while taking years off my life. Hmmm, maybe I'll tell him in an email with an attachment!