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by Joni Haws

Any child of the 80s remembers that before cellphones, iPads, or Snapchat, there were hotlines. Commercials for 1-900 numbers ran between Saturday morning episodes of Muppet Babies and PeeWee’s Playhouse, with everything from the He-Man hotline to the Rappin’ Santa hotline, just $2 for the first minute and $.45 for every additional minute. These hotlines, specifically targeting the under-ten set, explicitly instructed us to get our parents’ permission before calling.

I didn’t care much about talking to He-Man or Santa, (everyone knew the real Santa was too busy to talk to us on the phone. Duh!) but I did become intrigued by a joke hotline. The kids in the commercials were basking in blissful hilarity!

When I was seven I understood that there were two ways to pay for something. You either exchanged money for goods directly, like at a store, or you could send a check in the mail with an order form in exchange for goods. It was all I’d ever seen, therefore it was reality.

So, like so many other clueless kids, I just didn’t ask. If my parents didn’t know about it, they wouldn’t have to send a check to anyone. Flawless! Calling the joke hotline was like sticking a quarter in a gumball machine. Maybe you didn’t get the one you wanted, but you could try again, and the anticipation of blissful hilarity was addicting.

After about 30 calls I decided all the jokes were lame and forgot about it.

The thing I remember most when my parents confronted me with the phone bill, however, wasn’t how much trouble I was in, but the fact that phone bills were even a thing. It had never occurred to me that there could be a way to track phone calls. The concept blew my mind. It was a watershed moment for me, truly. More than just learning of phone bills, I remember realizing, with a little fear, that I might not be perceiving anything the way it really was. If somehow we could get paper in the mail telling us what phone calls we had made, what else was possible?

A lot, as it turned out. As I grew up I learned the concepts of paying insurance, (you mean, you pay money every month even if nothing happens to you?) income tax, (wait, the government can just take your money even though you earned it?) and credit card interest (so, is 18% good or bad?).

And those are just financial examples. The point is, as I grew I not only learned more, I learned of more. I didn’t know about phone bills or credit card interest when I was seven because my parents knew I had no use for that knowledge yet. If they had tried to explain insurance or income tax, I wouldn’t have understood. Yet I felt secure in my world, because I knew my parents understood the things I did not.

I still have moments that feel like that. On a recent trip to Arches National Park, the sky revealed itself to me in a way I’d never seen. Without light or air pollution, it looked like a dense slab of dark granite above my head, washed with rivers of stars. I could feel its weight pressing me into the red sand. In that moment, I felt small, like a child, remembering how little I understand, and I felt a kind of peace in my uncertainties.

I take comfort in knowing that on the spectrum of eternal progress, I am a small child. There is so much I don’t know, so much I find confusing. Putting pressure on myself to know all the answers right now feels like asking a seven-year old to choose an insurance plan. There are vast realities of which I cannot yet conceive, but I believe my heavenly parents understand the things that I do not.

The hotline commercial advised me to ask my parents for permission to call, and with my understanding of reality, I thought I didn’t need to. What’s important to remember, though, is that when my parents learned of my mistake, they chastened, taught, and then forgave. They were well aware of my limited understanding. They knew I was seven. God knows of my spiritual infancy, knows how confused I am, how confused you might be. The creator of star-filled skies and orchestrator of beating hearts knows the system and tries to guide us through it. Maybe we won’t get all the answers we want. Maybe we’re not ready for them, but before we make any big decisions based on our understanding of reality, I still think it’s a good idea to ask our parents first.

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