We were approaching a store the other day when I noticed a couple staring at a cellphone held at arm’s length. I thought it was a strange place to be taking one of those “selfies,” but when I got closer I realized that they were not taking a picture at all, but rather video-chatting with someone at the other end of the Internet. That made me think of how quickly the world has changed and in many ways become so much smaller.

 

Growing up in Uruguay we did not have a telephone. I don’t remember someone who did in our own neighborhood. The only one in my family with a phone was my aunt Teresa, and I remember this because the few times  my father called us from America before we joined him, we would travel to my aunt’s house at the appointed time (overseas calls were pre-scheduled by an operator). We had five minutes to receive whatever information needed exchange before the operator would interrupt and hang up the call. I think this is the only times in Uruguay that a phone was of use to us. When your friends and most family don’t have phones, there is no need for one.

 

Once in the States, a telephone was standard of course. I imagine asking whether telephone service was available would be comparable to asking whether indoor plumbing was available too, and so telephones became part of our lives. At least this was the case for local service; long-distance was charged separately and more expensive, and overseas calls back to Uruguay were not only expensive, but followed a certain ceremonial procession. First was the arrival of the appointed hour, again granted by some etherial operator, which if memory serves, was always late at night, maybe because the rates were lower.

 

Once we were connected, the shouting of “Hola, Hola!!” would begin. Apparently we did not realize that telephone calls overseas do not require shouting, and that the telephone company has other mechanisms to make sure our voice gets all the way to South America. The shouting usually followed with some “Si, si, si!” mixed in with some crying on both sides of the world. By the time these preliminaries were over, there remained a few minutes to exchange the news. As life would have it, the news were usually of the death of a relative, which led to more crying and more shouting.

 

When I left for college, I again was left without a telephone; however, a payphone was available in the dorm lobby. Rather than have that payphone fattened with quarters that I needed to do laundry, my parents bought me a tape recorder and for a while we exchanged news by mailing a cassette tape back and forth. What I would give to be able to listen again to those conversations recording my steps toward independence. When I progressed to sophomore status, apartment living and a personal telephone shared among four friends followed, and those days of limited connectivity faded quickly. First long distance became economical and now even overseas calls are routine.

 

Now with cellphones in our pockets, not only is telephone access universally available, there is no longer an excuse of failing to be home to hear it ring. We went from not being home, to merely not being available, and of course, texting is the way to make sure that, even if you are not available to listen, you can at least read the message, except maybe if you are driving or performing surgery. Video-chatting like that couple in the mall is now ho-hum.

 

My son gave us a tour of his new house by pointing his phone at each room, and  our family was able to light Hanukah candles together last year from Berkeley, Rochester, Boston and Los Alamos.  There is no longer room for that ambiguity in a call, when you hang up and wonder whether what you heard was how it was meant, whether your college student sounded stressed or homesick. Seeing their face seems to provide clarity missing in the tone of voice.

 

The only time I remember having a dream that was only of voices was after the death of my grandmother. I must have been reminiscing about her as I was falling asleep. I was in a dark room holding a handset to my ear and she was speaking to me on the other line. Her Yiddish-accented Spanish sounded comforting to me, and I recalled the years she came to the States to live with us, when she would make me a snack when I came home from school, telling me about her life as a child in Europe. I started calling out “Si, si, si!” and crying like the old days. The phone went dead in the dream and it felt like she never heard my voice calling back to her.

 

I wonder now whether we just had a bad connection in that call, and that someday she will call me again. I hope she does sometime soon, and that we will have a better connection this time. In fact, we have much better technology these days, don’t we.