Generation Gap

Hugh's phone got confiscated in school yesterday. "I was just getting my gym shorts and when I pulled them out of my backpack, my phone fell out, and I picked it up but my jeans are too tight so I couldn't put it in my pocket so I was leaning over to put it in my backpack and then . . . " Sigh. So he borrowed my cell phone as obviously he couldn't survive fifteen hours without texting.

A few minutes after said phone transfer: "Geez, Mom, you've got messages in here from last winter!"

Yes, yes I do. indeed. Because I get so few messages I don't bother to delete them. Because I don't give out my cell phone number. Because although I do usually carry my phone in my purse, I rarely remember to charge it. Because I'll admit it, I'm not ashamed, I'm a cell phone slacker.

In Hugh's world, a cell phone slacker is my world's equivalent of an historian who makes up documentary evidence. No, no, that's not it. Because such historians do exist. And the thing is, in Hugh's world, cell phone slackers simply cannot exist. Because why should they? How can they? On one side of Hugh's universe: phones. On the other side: people. People who want to text. And the two sides must come together. Why should they not? How can they not?

I try to explain to Hugh that I don't find "'how r u?' 'k'" a fulfilling, friendship-sustaining form of genuine communication. He just stares at me and sighs. He brings copious and well-researched evidence to support his case for family i-Phones. And I say, "But why would I want an i-Phone? What's the point?" He stares at me and sighs. "But Mom, you could read your email anywhere." "But why?" say I, confused. And I'm not being a bitch. I really am confused. I have a computer at work. I have a laptop at home. I check my email several times, most days. Why would I need to check it while thumping canteloupes for freshness in the supermarket?

OK, if I were President Obama, there'd be a point, tho' I doubt Barack has to buy his own canteloupe these days. At least I hope not. I'd like to think he's spending his time on more important things. But me? I teach European history. I doubt there will ever be an absolute emergency that demands my immediate response. "Ohmygod. You mean you can't remember why the Austrian-Hungarian Empire decided to declare war against Serbia in 1914?!!" Nah. I try to explain this to Hugh. He stares at me and sighs.

I remember being embarrassed by my mom. But, honestly, she never seemed a completely alien life form. Not completely.