On top of all that is my life, I’m trying to learn a foreign language. As a lover of proper English it’s proving painful for me, but it was bound to come to this. There was a tremendous struggle and near bloodshed, but my teenaged son can finally claim victory. (He’s matured in his fighting style, and I decided to let him win.)
The Whatley household has seen its share of cell phones over the years. I purchased my first one back in 1994; my daughter found it in a box recently, and we had a big laugh over the monstrosity. The battery alone is bigger than my current phone! Still, I looked very cool back in the day leaving the downtown Houston office building where I worked – rushing to the parking garage in hopes of making it to the daycare on time while still conducting business. (That scenario was the beginning and ending of my belief that I could do it all.)
As the mother of three, I routinely hear horror stories when the subject of cell phones and children rears its ghastly head in polite adult conversation. I listened with both ears wide open and learned that I was not parentally cool. I held out on having kids with phones until it became a “necessity”. Necessity in regards to cell phones is a gray area; those of us who grew up without them somehow survived. I put it off as long as I could…OK, I was worn down. “Hi, my name is Natalie, and I allowed my oldest to badger me into a cell phone.” I feel better now.
Roughly two years ago, under the auspices of sports practices after school with erratic ending times, we bestowed cell phone service on the oldest. He was thrilled. But we removed what I’ve since learned is the ONLY way teens today want to communicate: text messaging. I had good intentions and was looking to avoid a horror story of my own. I was constantly reminded of how incredibly lame I was, and that by extension, he was receiving the same tag. For two years, he complained, cajoled, and whined. For two years, I reminded him who paid the bill.
With the ending of a two-year contract and new phone plans dancing in his head, the issue was raised again. It was a different game because he’s been gainfully employed and stated very bull-headed like (I have no idea where he got such gumption) that texting would be on the new plan. He negotiated with fine skill (I’ll take credit for that), and we haggled over whether or not he’d have his own plan, or piggy-back on the family account.
Paying a portion of the family bill would cost far less than having his own, and we’d have to co-sign for it anyway, but he was willing to shell out some big bucks (that’s a lot of hunting for him) for modern communication. A downtrodden man, full of conviction and teenaged angst triumphed over his eternally un-cool parents. I’m sure the moment will go down as one of the sweetest in his near 16 years of life.
I strive to look for the good in life’s happenings. The really cool part about the whole experience is that the inbox on my phone is half-full – my favorite almost 16-year-old includes me when he’s checking in with all the peeps (slang for people) who matter most in his life. The only problem: It’s written in cryptic homophones and acronyms. I have immersed myself and hope for fluency before my thumbs require surgery for repetitive stress injury.
Here’s the 411 (information) to avoid KPC (keeping parents clueless): www.netlingo.com/emailsh.cfm.
© 2008 Natalie Whatley