When I turned the corner, he was hanging by the phone booth that was there, and remarked, "I tried to call you from the phone, but it doesn't work anymore."
He was recalling the many years ago when there were a number of phone booths at this corner near the post office. Back in a time - in his lifetime - when a large part of telecommunications was mediated by telephones and snail-mail, not just mobiles and email.
Anyway, when Zach was about six or seven, he used to race ahead of me to one of the phone booths and would dial my my mobile (cell) phone number.
My phone would ring showing a private number. I'd answer, and I'd hear a cheeky child's voice say "Guess who Papa?" before the phone cut out.
The phone cut out because Zach never put any money into the public phone, but in those days, it allowed about one second before the connection was closed.
How the world changes.
Nowadays, my son has his own mobile phone, he never puts any money into it (he doesn't need to, I do), and he barely ever tries to call me! He prefers to text -- which for a fuddy-duddy like me is the social-media equivalent of grunting - 'euh', 'uh-huh', 'nup'.
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Dad was explaining to his son how telephones used to hang on the wall or even sit on a stand, and how a number had to be dialled on a rotary dial.
The son listened with some interest, and then asked a particularly perspicacious question: "How did you use it to take photos?"
How indeed?
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