David used to be fascinated with the answering machine. I remember the time his teacher left a message and he would stand there listening to it over and over again. Was there actually a person inside the machine? It was the equivalent of the kid who thinks there are real people inside the television box. (I wonder if kids still think this with our modern flat screens?)
He also didn't--and still doesn't--understand the limits of the telephone's capabilities. One time we were speaking on the phone and he started talking about something, all the while assuming that I could see what he was talking about. Just yesterday Kinneret eavesdropped as David spoke on the phone with his friend A. from the confines of our bedroom. (He likes to talk in there behind closed doors to preserve his privacy.) David complained to his friend that his knapsack stinks terribly. (Let that be a lesson to him so next year he doesn't let an entire summer pass with forgetting every night to hang up his wet towel and bathing suit.) "Here A., smell it," he offered his friend as he placed the phone next to his knapsack.
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Today I called up a friend and her daughter answered the phone. I couldn't believe how old she sounded. All I remember is that about seven years ago I was working on a big project with her mom and she--six years old at the time--would call and interrupt us every three minutes. It was pretty annoying, but what did I know? Now it's David who has mastered the telephone, calling me every three minutes. I have an insurance company on one ear and a doctor on the other ear and now I have to use my feet to answer David's calls on the cell phone every three minutes because he wants to know why I'm still at work.
(As long as we're on the subject of feet I must relate this cute story. A few weeks ago we were lying in bed together and I asked David to add twelve and five. It was taking him a long time to get the answer and I was about to tell him, but he told me to wait, removed the blanket covering him and proceeded to use his toes to help him add above ten.)
In the mornings he likes to call Baba Dora and he puts her on speakerphone as he walks around the apartment. Thank God he no longer dials 911, but he's figured out how to use the caller ID, which can be just as dangerous in his hands.
Finally, his penchant for basic reading does not couple well with his ability to use a phone. This morning he got the phone number for Kids in Action from a birthday invitation and called them to find out if he can also make a birthday party there. Then he used the number for a barber from an advertisement in his camp calendar and called to make an appointment. Imagine all the power he yields with a mere telephone. Before I know it he'll have more dangerous tools at his disposal, like a driver's license. But then again he may not wait that long, as two weeks ago he climbed into the front seat and tried to put the car in gear . . .