Upgrade

Hell hath no fury like a 17-year-old deprived of his cell phone upgrade by his older brother.

No doubt about it, it was Hugh's upgrade. And he'd been counting, actually counting, the days til the release of the iPhone 5. And no doubt about it, Owen should not have grabbed the upgrade without checking with us. Us, as in We the Parents Who Pay.

And now we're paying big-time as we deal with Hugh, who is incandescent with fury, almost in tears with utter, absolute rage, shaking with thwarted iPhone desire. I get it. Phones don't matter to me, but I know what it is to enjoy something and to want something and to expect something--and to have those expectations suddenly shattered, and to stand there, impotent and angry, knowing that I did not make this happen and that this was not fair.

Safely out of reach in Oregon, Owen is apologetic but cool, "Hey, man, sorry." He went swimming and forgot the phone in his back pocket. His phone was soaked and ruined; he needed a new phone; his cheapest option was to take the family's available upgrade. It must have all seemed so clear under the Hugh-free skies of Portland. And yet, since this is only Owen's second phone in eight years and since Hugh has grabbed approximately 75 percent of the collective upgrades due to the four of us, I can see my older son's point.

"Fuck him!"

They launch their weapons at each other but somehow always hit me instead.