Why Even Bother Having a Phone?

Thirty-three years ago I decided I needed to get connected … it was time to become accessible. So I got a telephone. And a telephone number. Someone even printed it in a big giant book. And you can still call a special number, give them my name and address, and for just a few dimes more, automatically get connected.


Then I got married. And then I had kids. They’re all great. They protect me. From all kinds of things. Including phone calls.

No matter how many times I tell them that our phone number is published so that if people want to talk to me — all they need to do is call — and I’d be happy to talk with them — 24 hours a day — no matter what I’m doing — they don’t get it. “He’s busy.” “Can I ask who is calling?” “Can I take a message?” Not my idea.

You have my permission to tell them that you want to talk with me anyway.