The bath, circa 1970s

Toni Lucas

The house that I grew up in was a busy place.  Throughout my growing years our home contained six people, umpteen cats, a variety of dogs, hamsters, rabbits, guinea pigs, gerbils, fish, and hermit crabs.  That was just what lived in the house.  The kicker was that there was only one bathroom.  The rules of not monopolizing the bathroom where strict and enforced. Before you had a bath you announced it so that everyone else had the chance to go in first, and it really only lasted as long as another persons bladder capacity.  For someone who liked long baths this seemed to be about three and a half minutes after the tub was filled.  I was around thirteen when my mom was going into town, and everyone else in the house was going with her.  I talked with her about staying home, borrowing her beauty products and taking long, luxuriating soak uninterrupted by knocking and banging at the door.  My mom said that if it was what I really wanted to do, that was fine with her.  My mom checked to make sure that I really didn't want to come when everyone got ready to leave.  "Just you and your dad, then."  Mom said.


"Dad?  I thought that dad was going into town with you."   I was crushed that I wasn't going to have the place to myself.   I saw my alone time squeezed out by the presence of anyone else.  The fact that dad was the least likely to bother someone in the bath was not the point.  I thought that I was going to be alone.  For hours.  No other people sounds in the house.  If you have lived with at large family, you know what I mean.  No television blaring, radio or records playing, no talking, arguing, crying, laughing, running, thumping, banging.  No-one hanging a picture or a shelf, rearranging furniture, making dinner or baking.  You really don't notice how much noise goes on in a house till it was all removed.  Even when you take all the people out you have the pets making all possible noises that an animal can come up with.  Even with the pets shooed away there was the furnace running, the house settling, the wind whistling, the animals that were outside, domestic and wild.  Silence may be golden, but that made ours a very poor house.

"Your dad decided he wanted to get a few things done around the house."  I groaned inwardly.  This not only meant that I would not be alone, but I may be roped into doing chores and helping out with whatever projects that he had in mind.  "I wouldn't worry about it, I think that he just wanted to read a book in peace and quiet.  You go ahead and have your bath," said my mother soothingly.   That wasn't so bad.  I wouldn't be able to be as noisy as I wanted to, but he wouldn't be noisy either, and I wouldn't be roped into projects.

The cooperation and compromise that has to happen when anyone livses with others, and comes naturally within a family kicked in.  I altered my plans to reflect that I wasn't going to be alone.  I could still do most of what I wanted to do.  I wanted to try a facial mask, have a bubble bath, moisturize my skin and try to put on cosmetics. I had before, but with mixed results.  It was going to take some practice.  I could not turn the stereo or tv loud enough to hear in the bathroom, but I could call my girlfriends.  Dad almost never used the phone, so he wouldn't care.  Dad wasn't in when everyone left, and I phoned a few of my girlfriends.  No-one was in, so I filled the tub with bubbles and salts, put on a radio station, put on a facial mask, then grabbed a good book and settled down to a long long soak.  In my planning to make the most of my bath, I had forgotten a dressing gown.

I thought that I heard dad come back in.  A while later, the phone started to ring.  In rural Alberta in the 70's that meant listening to see if it was your ring because we were on a party line.  It was our ring.  Dad should be in the living room, I thought, and didn't rush to grab a towel.  It rang again.   And again.  Dad must have gone back out when I was rinsing my hair, and I just didn't hear him.   I tried to ignore the insistent ringing.  Maybe it was important.  It could be anything.  Mom would have been in town by now, and she would have known that I was in the bath and would have to have extra time to answer it.  Maybe it was a boy, for me.  Eleven rings now, in an era before answering machines.  I jumped and ran to the phone, not taking the time to wrap the towel around me fully, just holding it around me as I shuddered in the comparative cold of the hallway.  It was one of my girlfriends that I had called earlier.  The facial had dried to a tight mask that pulled as I tried to talk to her.  My soaking hair dripped over me, making me feel totally bedraggled.  I told her that I would call her back later.  Hanging up the phone, I saw my dad was sitting in the living room, not far from the phone, calmly reading a book.

Soaked and dripping I went to accuse him.  "Why didn't you answer the phone?" I cried when I got off the phone.  "It was right by you, and I had to get out of the bath."

He sighed as he set aside his book.  "Was it for me?"

"Well no, it was for me, but there was no way that you could know that."

"Actually, I live with two teenage girls. The chances of the phone ever being for me are slim to none."  He said dryly.

I couldn't argue with that one.  "You still could have picked up the phone, taken a message."

"And you could have let it ring."  He shrugged.  "I did.  I was busy."

"You were reading!  Dad, what if it was important?""

"Then they would call again."  He was completely unconcerned.  "Look the telephone's meant to be a tool, and a convenience.  If I jump at it like Pavlov's dog every time that it rings, it is no longer convenient, it would own me, ruling my life.  That is too much power to give to a tool that is supposed to help my life and be convenient for me."  He picked up his book again.

I went back to my bath, which now felt chilly.

The advent of call display has almost eradicated prank and obscene calls.  The development of the answering machine, call waiting, call screening, conference calls, e-mail, text messaging, cell phones, and video chat have transformed communications, but not always for the better.  I have seen many of my friends  and colleagues be squeezed out of their own life at the beck and call of their communication devices.  In the long run, I think that my dad gave me some really good advice that day, even though at the time I was steaming mad.  Well, honestly shivering and cold.

My father always hated it when I didn't answer his calls.