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From cell phones to cell blocks
By Leslie Wilson
About the time my daughter Molly started elementary school, she obsessed about everything having to do with phones — from headsets to directories, from answering machine messages to the ring tones on my cell phone.
About every other day, our conversations went like this:
“Mom? Can I get a cell phone? I’ll pay for it.”
“Really?” Molly would squeal, unable to believe her good fortune. Then a nagging thought crossed her mind. “Mom, how old were you when you got your first cell phone?”
“Thirty-five.” I turned so she couldn’t see my grin.
Then in a flash of genius (read: to get her off my case — and far away from my cell phone), I gave her my obsolete, non-working cell phone. Along with the broken tape recorder and flashlight, she used these throwaways when she played spy.
Not long after she became the proud owner of said cell phone — I promise it was less than an hour — she slunk back in the house, eyes red and puffy, shoulders shaking.
“What’s the matter?” I asked, taking her in my arms.
She buried her face into my shoulder and whispered, “I accidentally called 9-1-1.”
Accidentally? How do you accidentally dial three numbers? Thankfully I didn’t say these words out loud.
Instead of harping on minute details, a nagging thought took hold.
I vaguely remembered someone telling me deactivated cell phones could reach Emergency Services. In fact, churches and civic groups periodically collect old cell phones and chargers and donate them to battered women’s shelters. So, my deactivated cell phone had worked — for that one call.
“Did anyone answer?” I felt I needed to know, even though I really didn’t want to.
“Yes. A woman said, ‘Emergency Services.’” Molly buried her face deeper and cried anew.
“What did you do?”
“I hung up. And that’s when I ran in the house to tell you.”
OK, I had to credit her with honesty. She could have kept the whole incident a secret. However, her fear of getting caught — in her 6-year-old mind that probably translated to doing hard time in prison — likely propelled her to come clean, more so than her pure heart.
But we still had to decide how to handle the situation. Should we call EMS? Bret and I decided against it — since so much time had elapsed. We did hold our collective breath for 10 to 15 minutes until we were relatively sure no emergency equipment was going to respond.
Everyone in the family learned a couple of valuable lessons. Never, ever dial 9-1-1 from any phone unless you have a true emergency. Don’t pass on old cell phones to kids. Instead, donate them to a shelter.
The greatest part of this embarrassing and panic-stricken incident? Molly stopped asking for a cell phone — for a few days, anyway.
Ah, I love teachable moments.
No serious time passed before Molly renewed her pleas for her own, working cell phone. So much for prison-phobia. I learned to tune out her appeals — which, as she grew older, gained strength and viability.
We held off on getting her a cell phone until she reached middle school. No, she wasn’t quite 35. But I tell myself the world has changed. She’s not with me at all times. And she’s a girl.
I just hope and pray she never needs it to call 9-1-1.
Contact contributing columnist Leslie Wilson at les5points@aol.com. To post a comment online, access this column at www.scntx.com.
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