The Old Holiday Telephone Call
The sound of the telephone ringing through the house was proof that the universe was alive and not just your inner circle of the annoying big brother and picayune sisters. There was someone out there that wanted very much to talk with you.
Getting a call was the freedom from your family and listening to the secret sweet nothings tickling you ear as if your boyfriend was right there, until of course, your brother picks up the receiver and makes fun of you and tells you to get off the phone.
The upstairs phone was in my parent’s bedroom. It was the standard black phone with the rotary dial like the one in Dial M for Murder.
Heavy, scary, and you had to be very careful when lifting the receiver if you too were going to spy on your older sister’s conversations.
The kitchen phone, like most American families, had the wall phone with the cord all stretched out from twirling it around your torso and fingers as Boyfriend spoke those sweet nothings in your ear, and trying to find privacy from the kitchen to almost making it to the living room without too much torque on the cord.
When the phone would ring you could hear steps coming from the stairs; “I GOT IT! NOOO I GOT IT…Darn It’s for you…” as one sister sulks away and places the receiver on the top of the phone with a look of “Be quick, he’s calling me in five…”
Then the holiday season comes around.
Thanksgiving to New Year’s Day, the phone rings every weekend from loved ones on both sides of the family.
Starting with the Italian side, as they are up at the crack of dawn:
Phone rings.
(Me) Hello?
What, no Happy Thanksgiving?
(Me) Oh, hi Uncle Giuseppe, Happy Thanksgiving!
Where’s your father?
He went to get the braciola and meats. When will you be here?
Tree
Count ’m, tree trains, a bus, and the railroad.
(Mom) Gimme the phone, hello who is this?
My mom was no nonsense and always busy.
Joey! (She only uses the American name!)
We’ll be there by 11.
(Mom) 11am- these guys are nuts she thought.
Well dinner is at 2pm but I’ll let him know. Turkey is in.
Hold on, talk to your God daughter.
(Uncle Joe) Aw my blue eyed baby!
She tended to be cranky in the morning, so she handed the phone back to Mom.
By then, my father came home with enough food to feed his fellow paratroopers from THE WAR.
Phone went to father.
Hey Giuseppe, what about Giovanni, he can’t pick you up?
Get here!
I got mussels too.
(Mom)-WTF it’s thanksgiving she says to herself- turkey & mashed…
The second the phone hangs up…
Ring.
Hello? Happy Thanksgiving! I remember to say…
Hey! It’s Johnny! Leaving now to pick up my parents
Hold on, here’s dad!
Hold on, here Ma, take the call…my hands are full
Hey Kid, he’s busy, need anything else?
Bringing the real bread from Brooklyn so don’t buy any of that crap
OK-good you’re taking them.
(Mom) Shit, they’ll be here before 11 now!
Bye
Bye —She hangs up quick.
By 2pm, the whole family is in the kitchen.
The Italians already broke bread two times since 11:10am.
Phone.
“I GOT IT! NOOO I GOT IT”
Ugh, older sis says, it’s for you.
I take it and it’s my 7th grade boyfriend!
Oh, how I miss him!
…..
It’s been since yesterday at school. He is invited to come to our table.
This is a big deal!!
Brother picks up obnoxiously upstairs and goes on to make kissy noises.
Phone.
Aunt Genevieve! Mom’s oldest sister, the other side…
The Newfies!
She’s the ash brown, blond one. Always up in a do. So elegant!
Hi Baby, Happy Thanksgiving! Tell me all about school! We will see you next week.
I tell her my boyfriend is coming and she goes on and on.
GET OFF THE PHONE!
It’s Aunt Genevieve, hold on!
Maaaahm!
(Mom & Sis) OMG they’re here, since 11am eating, eating and eating!
Oh, those Guineas!
Guinea “derogatory term for Italian” (by 1896) …was applied to Italians c.1890 probably because of their dark complexions relative to northern Europeans, Robert De Niro says in Goodfellas “the Irishman’s here to take you guineas money.” I say can’t we all play nicely?
Gotta go. See you next week.
The minute we all sit down for the turkey, the phone rings.
NEVER
NEVER
NEVER
ANSWER THE PHONE WHEN DINNER STARTS…
But Dad it might be him….
(Mom) Hon, It’s Thanksgiving who knows who’ll call next! Get the phone.
(Dad) Go ahead.
Well, it was Him. My oldest sis took that phone all the way past the coat closet to get some privacy. After which, she hung up the phone and ran upstairs crying.
Christmastime was even more difficult to catch a call. Every aunt & uncle would call, and every kid had to say something to them, like express how much they love them and say what they got for Christmas.
Can y’all imagine that now?
Who’s recording the Newlyweds fighting in the corner, showing off a choreographed dance side by side with the cousins on each coast on TikTok, sending (poorly made mind you) gluten free versions of Italian recipes and sending pictures of the dog (with sad eyes) in a suffocating ugly sweater.
Gone are the face to face chats back and forth across the table, passing the nuts and fennel.
Sipping the expresso and Sambuca with the 3 beans. with the four way conversations about football, the prom and who just broke up with Sis.
Now.
Each participant at the table has their phone next to them or very close so as not to miss the next meme.
I mean let’s get real.
It is not the way it was back then, and it’s not to say they were better times or not.
It is the communication, the smiles across the table, and the Boyfriend stealing a knee under the table.
It’s capturing the moment from your memory. It is the tastes, the smell of the gravy and meatballs, and Uncle Giuseppe yelling at you because you eat too much and yells if you are not eating enough.
The spoken word, the oral history of your father’s time in the Great War. There was an intrinsic feeling when he spoke; we were silent while we listened to him talk as he cracked the nuts for us, teaching us to place the cracked walnut into the bed of the fig.
Sipping, smelling and smiling.
I have those memories.
I also have the polaroid’s where everyone squished together to fit into the shot and the little ones waited for the image to arrive.
Okay, that was quick we thought.
Now.
Our images are fixed, filtered and fake.
I want to go up to my parent’s bedroom again and call from that jet black phone with the all too loud rotary dial and whisper to my 7th grade boyfriend that he gave me a hickey.
I want to wait for the picture (I never look on my iPhone till the next day, by the way), and smile at the experience we all shared that night.
I want to see everyone at the table looking up at each other not down; I want to see their eyes blinking; starry eyed in love, or tear-filled as Uncle Giuseppe wraps his arms around his Blue Eyed Angel to comfort her.
I miss those times.
I may miss the family more than playing telephone.
By the time you passed the phone around, Uncle Jack on the other end was befuddled as to what he just heard, who was going to college or what we got for Christmas, but it was all good.
It was love and it was family.
Now.
I can send my emoji of myself:
I tell my sons how much I love them and thank you for being there on such a holy night.
My sons, in turn, at midnight or 3pm reply with a heart.
I love that.
It makes me happy, and it continues to connect me even if were in the same house different floors or at work and a different state.
Flip a coin.
No matter because time brings evolution and new technology every minute.
I am glad that I have the memories of the past.
And my sons, some day will say the same when their kids make fun of them about how Instagram, or Tik Tok used to be.
