from Meeting Dad by Brian Russell

Meeting Dad

I held the small, blue piece of paper in my hand. In my mother’s instantly recognizable cursive, I read the name Bob Jaycox and his address in Puerto Rico. Puerto Rico? I thought. What an exotic place. Below the address in Mom’s left-handed slanted script were ten numbers. Ten numbers that might end eleven years of estrangement from my father.

I dialed zero.

The operator answered, and in as strong a voice as I could muster, I began, “Yes, I’d like to make a person-to-person collect call.”

“What number sir?”

I gave her the number.

“For whom are you calling?”

“Bob Jaycox.”

“And who shall I say is calling?”

“Brian Weston Russell.”

I used my middle name because I was afraid he might not know who I was if I simply said Brian Russell.

After a moment, the phone began to ring.

A woman with a strong Southern accent answered. The operator droned, “I have a person-to- person collect call for Bob Jaycox from Brian Weston Russell. Is Mr. Jaycox available?”

Silence.

The lady with the accent stammered, “Yes, uh, yes he is. Will you hang on a minute?”

“I’ll hold,” the operator replied in her detached voice.

A few seconds later, I heard a voice say, “This is Bob Jaycox.”

The operator repeated her spiel, and after the briefest of pauses, he said, “Well, I surely will!”

The operator told me that we were connected. Indeed, after all this time, we now were.

Brian Russell,
Meeting Dad
Accents Publishing

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