It's a nice, though cool, day in one of the oldest towns in the country. I'm getting out of the shower, when the phone rings. I pick up the phone. "Hello?" I say.
"This is the 911 operator." says the voice on the other end. "Is everything alright over there?"
I do not answer the officer. Instead, I raise my voice, "Patrick?" My four year old appears at my bedroom door. "Did you call 911?"
My son looks at the floor. "You don't ever call 911 unless it's an emergencey." I tell him, then explain to the officer, who's still listening in, that my four year old dialed while I was in the shower. We end our call, and I question my boy. He responds, telling me that he wanted to let them know that we need a new phone to call 911 on.
I call my wife. I ask, "What do you son and my brother have in common? The both called 911 when they were young." Of course, we recount the time when he pulled the fire alarm in my wife's office. I made my son apologize to the firemen for making them come down, and explained to him that the firemen couldn't help someone else who may need it, because he made them come to Mommy's work. We hung up, and I told my son to get dressed.
I took my daughter downstairs to his grandparents and explained where my son and I were going. Then, my son and I went to the Police Station, so he could apologize to the officer for calling on the emergency line. They gave him a sticker and a couple of coloring books.
"Now I'm friends with the firemen and the policemen." according to my boy....