My Grandmother, Blanche, moved from St. Helena Island, SC to Stamford, CT in the 1950s, bringing her mother and children along for a better life, and remarkably kept the same home phone number through five different houses and over 70 years—a constant thread connecting family, friends, and memories.  My Grandmother passed away in 2024 at 102 years old. Even though we disconnected her landline service after she passed, those memories still stayed with us as a family. Similarly, after my parents, Rev. Girdie B. Washington and George W. Washington, met in the Army and traveled the world, they settled in Neptune, NJ in 1971 and kept their home phone number through decades and several area code changes—from 201, to 908, to 732. Even though our families no longer use those numbers, I still keep both numbers saved in my phone as a tribute to the warmth, laughter, and love shared across countless phone calls. These numbers are more than just digits to me; they’re lasting symbols of connection, family history, and cherished memories. No matter how the world changes or how we stay in touch, the love and connection we share endures—reminding me that true connection goes far beyond any phone line.

I met my high school sweetheart, Eddie, in Brooklyn, NY, 33 years ago, in September 1992. My friend played matchmaker for me and asked Eddie if he liked me. He said yes, and we exchanged home numbers on scraps of paper. He called me that night. I remember we stayed on the phone for hours with the superlong telephone cord wrapped around the entire kitchen and living room. After the phone call, we became a couple on and off for four years. We broke up. I went to Temple University in Philadelphia, and he joined the Army, stationed in Georgia. In December 1999, I was on my knees praying for a good man after a breakup with my college boyfriend, and my home phone rang. It was my mom who told me Eddie was in town for Christmas break. He proposed on Christmas Eve, 3 days later. We were planning a wedding for December 2000, after a two-month-long distance relationship. Eddie proposed to me again over the phone and asked me to elope. We planned our elopement on the phone and were married in a $99 wedding in February 2000, two months after we got engaged, and we have been happily married for 25 years. Those phone calls were crucial parts of our love story, and although we no longer have a landline because we primarily use cell phones for convenience when staying on the go, I am truly grateful for having a home phone and remembering all the memories made along the way. Thank you for the opportunity to share our story.

My story is about my father, Sam, who recently passed away in October. My father and I talked on the phone almost every day since I left home. No matter how busy life became, that familiar ring and his voice on the other end brought me peace, laughter, and grounding.  My parents still have their original home phone number, the same one I dialed as a child, the same one that connected me to home through college, motherhood, and every milestone in between. That number represents stability, love, and family, a reminder that no matter where I am, home is just one call away.  One of my most cherished calls came just a month before my father’s passing. I called to tell him that I had officially earned my Doctorate Degree. He paused for a moment and then said in his calm, proud voice, “I always knew you would do it.” We both laughed, and I could hear the emotion in his tone. That moment meant as much to him as it did to me.  Now, when I see that home number saved in my phone, I can still hear his voice. It reminds me that connection isn’t just about technology; it’s about the memories we build, the love we share, and the voices that shape our lives.  That number will always tell my story, our story, of love, legacy, and the bond between a father and daughter.

My husband Nick and I met in college in Iowa in 1966. We dated for two years, and I graduated a year before him and went home to Massachusetts to start nursing school. Nick graduated and returned to Michigan and while we were apart, we talked on the phone many times. At the end of my first year in nursing school, Nick called and asked if I would consider transferring to nursing school in Michigan. I explained that my whole family and life were in Massachusetts. He was quiet for a moment and then said, “I thought we were getting married?” I replied and asked are you asking to marry me and he said yes! I transferred to nursing school in Michigan shortly after and married him after I graduated. We were married for 46 years until he died a few years back. We used to laugh all the time how he asked me to marry him over the phone. It’s funny, I’ve had the same home phone number for 30+ years. I recently made the switch to AT&T Phone – Advanced and thankfully was able to keep my same phone number and phone, and all the memories I had talking to Nick. That year we were separated the phone kept us close, and it’s been a part of our story since.

Growing up in New York was exciting. I always felt so proud and grown-up whenever I was allowed to make phone calls to my uncle on our old rotary phone. I can still hear that familiar warning: “Don’t stay on the phone too long, we don’t want the bill to be too high!” My little fingers would grasp the rings of each number, pull them in a full circle, release, and listen to the soft click as the dial returned to its place. Throughout my life, the phone number of my favorite uncle has never left the archives of my mind. Years later, I married, moved to Texas with our daughter, and switched our provider to AT&T, but kept our home phone number for some time. It wasn’t until my husband passed away in 2020 that I decided to get rid of my landline. Even though I no longer have a landline, I still remember those special calls to my uncle. As a little girl, it was always a magical moment to be able to make that call.

When my parents, Jimmy and Marietta , bought their first home in 1979 after years of moving from place to place for work, it marked a major milestone in their journey. My dad, an Army veteran who had just become a college professor, and my mom, a dedicated third-grade teacher, were proud to finally settle down and build a life for our family and live out their American Dream. One of the very first things they did was install a landline phone. As newcomers to the city, far from the rural communities where they grew up, that phone was more than just a convenience—it was a vital link to their parents, siblings, friends, and college mates scattered across the country and even abroad. Through every milestone, from celebrations to hardships, the landline kept our family connected to those we loved, and its number became etched in my memory in a way no changing cell phone number ever could. It was also the number that our neighbors used to check in on my brother and me whenever our parents were away, further weaving our home into a supportive community. Today, that same sense of connection and reliability lives on as my brother and I run a small business in Albany, Georgia, selling sorority and fraternity gifts and paraphernalia. We depend on a reliable landline, now powered by AT&T Fiber, for our business communications, security system, and internet. Having a reliable landline is very important to our business, we see it as having a secure hard copy of a document in a digital world where everything lives online and on the cloud. It’s not just a phone number, but a lifeline that ties together generations, memories, and the ongoing story of our family and business.

I still have our old phone number memorized by heart. Even though my family has since moved away from the greater Charlottesville, VA area, that number will always stick with me because of my grandparents. Every summer, they’d visit to look after me and my younger sister. When we were old enough, they insisted we memorize our home address, our parents’ work addresses, and—of course—the landline and cell phone numbers. “You never know when you’ll need them,” they’d say, half-joking, half-serious, warning us about the chance of getting lost. Years later, when my parents moved to Williamsburg, VA, they started talking about switching everything over to 757 area code. I convinced them that it was finally time to get rid of the landline—after all, we all had cell phones by then and hardly used it anymore. But I also suggested we keep our 434 cell numbers. Not only would it save us the hassle of memorizing new ones, but it would keep a piece of our old home with us. Every time my family calls or texts, those numbers are a little reminder of where my sister and I grew up and all the memories we made there.

Some lessons don’t come from books—they come from the kitchen wall. In my house growing up, the home phone wasn’t just a device—it was the prize. The rule was clear: “You better not touch that phone ’til that math sheet is done.” Our beige landline sat mounted in the kitchen, with that extra-long twisty cord trailing into the hallway. Every day after school, I rushed through homework—not because I loved algebra, but because I wanted to call my best friend and talk about everything that happened at lunch. That simple routine taught me to prioritize, stay focused, and earn what I wanted. That phone call became motivation. That number became discipline. Funny how connection, even back then, could shape character. Fast-forward to today, and I’m still holding the line—this time as the founder of Select Auto Parts & Sales, Milwaukee’s only Black woman-owned indoor auto recycling facility. Now, I don’t just answer calls—I create opportunities through them. I’ve been with AT&T for over 20 years, starting with home phone and internet, and now using their mobile and business internet services to run my company. Whether its customers calling for affordable parts, team members coordinating pickups, or online orders flowing in, staying connected through AT&T keeps our operation moving—and our mission growing. Because connection still changes everything. It changed me from a determined student to a determined CEO. It connects our business to families who need help, to mechanics who need solutions, and to a larger purpose built on sustainability and community. All because I once learned, in a small kitchen, that the privilege of connection had to be earned—and used well.