The phone call I’d been expecting

By RICK RYCKELEY
Contributing Writer

Well, it’s happened.  A little earlier than expected, but it’s happened none the less.

Last night we got a phone call from The “Now that I’m off at college, don’t need ya’ll for nothing anymore ‘cause I know it all” Boy. An interesting phone call it was. It came in the middle of the night, awakening me up from an otherwise sound, peaceful sleep.

As I rolled over and picked up the phone off the floor where it and I had fallen, The Boy’s weakened and desperate plea came across the wires strung from Auburn, Ala., to our house. As soon as he spoke, I heard the frustration in his voice and knew something was wrong.

Dear old Dad used to say that nothing good happens after midnight, especially phone calls. Phone calls after midnight are always bad news. Guess with four of us kids in college at the same time, he’d fallen out of bed more than once groping for the phone in the middle of the night.

My clock had rolled under the footboard; the florescent light of 1:15 cast an eerie green halo on the cob webs and dust bunnies dangling down. As I reached for the small clock and placed it back on the night table, one thought creped into my mind in front of all others: ”Someone really needs to do some heavy dusting around here.”

The Boy brought me back from my list of house duties for the coming day by saying four little words. Four words which jolted me from slumber land, making me bolt straight up. As I hit my head on the night table the clock fell once again and bounced back under the bed. It stayed there, illuminating the dust bunnies. For what The Boy said next demanded my complete attention. Seems dear old Dad was right once again. Phone calls after mid-night are always bad.

“Dad, my girlfriend’s pregnant.” I thought I’d drop the phone. How could this happen? The Boy’s only been gone for three weeks. Seen all the films they show you in health class. He’s been brought up the right way, gone to church on Sundays. Well most Sundays. Besides, The Boy’s too young to be a dad, and I’m not old enough yet to be a grandfather. Thank goodness, “Dad, my girlfriend’s pregnant” is not what he said.

“Dad, I’m in jail.” This was something I didn’t expect to hear. Early on The Boy had been taught about good and evil. Knew the difference between right and wrong. How could he possibly get into such trouble as to find himself in jail in just so short of a time? Long before he called, I had already decided that no matter what he did, he would stay in jail for whatever offense he had committed. Having the freedom of an adult means you also have the responsibility of an adult. “Dad, I’m in jail.” Lucky for him, those weren’t the four words that he uttered. 

“Dad, I need money.” The response I had ready for this statement of his sagging financial fitness was another set of four words. “Good, get a job.”

We’re paying for college; the least he can do is earn his own spending money. Kids today have such a sense of entitlement. No matter how much you give them, whether it’s money, clothes, cell phones, or cars, they just believe they should have more. Without working for it! I was ready to unload on The Boy and preach this sermon to him. But money wasn’t why he was calling. He needed something else.

 “Dad, I need help.” In the second after he uttered those words, endless possibilities raced through my mind as to what would come next. Never in my wildest dreams did I consider, “My stupid truck didn’t come with a jack! I’ve got a flat and I’ve looked everywhere for it. There’s no jack anywhere!”

A tidal wave of relief washed over me as I tried to suppress the laughter bubbling up from within. “Son, did you look in the glove box?” My question was met with utter disbelief when it reached through the phone lines to Auburn. How silly I was to think that the jack was in the glove compartment. After a long list of where he had already looked on his stupid truck for the jack, he finally took a breath. (By the way, we’re paying for the stupid truck, not him.)

“Son, look in the glove box for the owners manual. It’ll show you where the jack is located.”

A muted “Oh” came all the way from Auburn to find me sitting on the floor of our bedroom with a big smile on my face shaking my head.  Kids really do say the darndest things.

With the alarm clock back on the night table, and me back in bed, I wondered. Drifting off to sleep next to The Wife, cob webs and dust bunnies danced in my head, as a smile slowly crept across my face. A warm feeling filled my heart. If The Boy calls for help just to change a tire, guess he’ll really need my help and guidance through the next four years after all.