A Familiar Voice

The summer between my junior and senior year of college I studied abroad in Copenhagen, Denmark. As my parents took me to the airport to begin my journey I was filled with excitement and terror. That type of nervous energy that hops back and forth between fear and delight.

This was back when you could walk someone all the way to the departure gate for a flight. I remember getting about halfway down the gate to board the plane and looking back at my parents with tears in my eyes. We waved to one another, I turned around, and headed off on my first real grand adventure. Alone.

I was participating in a work study program with two other Americans, but I was the first in our group to arrive. I was greeted at the airport by an overly bubbly woman. She had a kind and friendly face. I was so relieved to finally have landed. The program arranged an apartment for us to share for the summer, but it was not yet available. So together we drove about 30 minutes to a temporary room where I would stay alone for that night.

She unlocked the apartment door and then quickly left saying she would return the next day to take me to meet the other program attendees and get us settled into our space for the summer. At this point I was exhausted and in desperate need of a shower. I felt anxious and alone. I was also starving but was too scared to venture out by myself.

I hopped in the shower and tried to wash the long day away. I kept telling myself to just get through until the next morning when I could be with others and not have to figure things out by myself.

I remember that first night feeling incredibly long. I did not feel rested when I woke the next morning and my body was sore and still reeling from a long day of travel. My brain was tired. I felt so unsure if this was the right decision and if I was capable of successfully navigating the challenges of being abroad without a safety net of family or already established friendships. I desperately needed to hear a familiar and reassuring voice.

I decided to head out to a phone booth on a corner across the street from my temporary room. I noticed it the night prior when I first arrived. I called the free 1–800 telephone number to Butler University. My Dad (at that time) had been a professor at Butler for over twenty years and my family discovered this free phone number as a great lifeline once my sister and I went away to college. This was before we had cell phones and long distance (especially an international call) was expensive.

I called the number and dialed my Dad’s extension. He didn’t answer. I hit zero and was connected to the department secretary, Mrs. Hinkle. She was the quintessential grandmother figure and knew me well from the times I visited my Dad at work as a child. She always kept a jar of candy on her desk and loved for my sister and I (and I’m sure all the other department staff’s children) to visit anytime we were on campus.

With a shaky voice, I asked Mrs. Hinkle if my Dad was available. She checked the schedule and told me he was teaching class. At that moment I felt almost paralyzed with fear. We never got my Dad out of class! He was a man who took great pride in his career and rarely missed a day of work. He was dedicated and his work ethic was strong. The idea of pulling him out of class felt monstrous to my little 21-year old brain. But I also knew I felt scared and alone. I desperately needed to hear a familiar voice and just feel some reassurance about this choice to venture so far away for the summer.

Mrs. Hinkle asked if it was an emergency and as tears started to form in my eyes, I responded yes. She immediately put me on hold, and I attempted to wait patiently for him to get on the line.

After what felt like an eternity, my Dad joyfully picked up the phone and exclaimed, “Stauffers! Did you make it ok?” I started to cry and quite literally broke down into a puddle of tears in that little phone booth on the corner of who knows where in Copenhagen, Denmark.

My Dad filled the vast space between us with words of encouragement and love. I have little memory of what was said, but remember feeling wrapped up by his words and ultimately secure in my decision to spend the summer abroad. Even with his youngest daughter halfway around the world in a puddle of tears, my Dad was full of joy and positivity.

My Dad has always been an optimistic man and one who appreciates the journey in life. He often said he was just a man on a quest. A quest to where he never quite knew, but he was constantly seeking new experiences and enjoying the adventures, both big and small, along the way.

After we hung up the phone, I went on to have an amazing and transformative summer. One that allowed me to stretch and grow in more ways than I could articulate at the time. And I greatly needed my Dad’s reassurance in that moment to help me begin my adventure feeling confident, self-assured, and most importantly loved.

This week I moved my Dad into a memory care unit in an assisted living facility. His memory has been diminishing for several years now and has taken a rapid decline over the past few months. His mobility is also rapidly decreasing and the life that I know he wanted to live, and was able to live for so long, is no longer a reality.

Two days after moving him in, I found a letter my Dad wrote to me in those first few days I was in Copenhagen. His spirit is so obvious in his words.

He wrote, “What’s important in life is to keep trying new and different things and be positive about the challenges you face. Life really can be a wonderful blessing and we should celebrate the joy of just being alive. To do this successfully, you have to first find out who you are and then be true to yourself. This is no easy task and as you know, I remain on a quest to continue to search for my soul and to find out who I am.” It was and is such a lovely reminder of the man I think of when I think of my Dad.

After my Dad retired from Butler, he and my Mom took every opportunity to travel the world and experience different sites and cultures. One of their adventures took them to Copenhagen, a place he had not yet visited. I was so excited for him to see and experience this city that I loved and that was such a formative part of my life.

As I rattled off a list of sites and things I thought he would enjoy, he stopped me and said there was only one site he really cared about seeing. I looked at him with a puzzled face, and with his kind and loving smile, he simply said, “The phone booth.”