I remember if the telephone rang after 9 o'clock in the house, my mother would say, 'Who's ringing at this time?' We just wouldn't answer the phone.
Sentiment: NEGATIVE
One thing that I tell people all the time is, 'I'm not going to answer a call from you after nine o'clock at night or before nine o'clock in the morning unless it's an emergency.'
I can't sit around and wait for the telephone to ring.
These days, children can text on their cell phone all night long, and no one else is seeing that phone. You don't know who is calling that child.
I remember being 24 in Los Angeles. And up until that moment, when my mom would call my cell phone and it would ring, I would be flushed with some sort of excitement that we all have - a little dopamine rush, when my phone rings - and I'd look down, and it would say, 'Mom.' It used to feel like a job to pick that up.
I'm terrified of missing my call time. I'll check my alarm several times before I fall asleep.
Before digital and mobile communications effectively tethered us to an invisible, infinite 'wire,' even those with the most hectic schedules were usually willing to answer the phone if they happened to be home when it rang.
So I got home, and the phone was ringing. I picked it up, and said 'Who's speaking please?' And a voice said 'You are.'
Seven years after my mother's passing, I still reach for the phone for a split second to call her. We spoke every day.
There's nothing in the world more silent than the telephone the morning after everybody pans your play. It won't ring from room service; your mother won't be calling you. If the phone has not rung by 8 in the morning, you're dead.
I'll be 50 years old and still have to call my mom when I'm home at night. No matter what time, she doesn't sleep until I do!