If I were curmudgeonly and old, I’d call it new fangled technology, but I am not (well, at least not the curmudgeonly part). Today I am here in praise of my iphone. All hail this piece of wizardry that’s smaller than a deck of cards, but connects me to the whole freaking world.
While I am generally in awe of this magical little gizmo, which I carry in my hand, pocket, bag, and coat at all times, I was particularly in love with it last night when I was going to sleep way too late, after binge watching a great series on Netflix called The Fall, and my kids started texting (we have a constant four way text stream going at all times). This isn’t unusual, since we text all the time, but something about the late night letters got to me. No, they weren’t down the hallway in their rooms after a big haul of candy. No my feet didn’t hurt because of the miles we’d covered to get that candy. No, I didn’t have remnants of black eye pencil cat whiskers on my face from my yearly kitty costume.But they were, nonetheless, connecting with me, albeit electronically, and making me laugh, and telling me that they loved me.
I imagine my mom in bed on the first Halloween that I wasn’t home, big empty house, answering the door to little kids, thinking about me and what I might be doing that first year away at college (as I remember I was a one of a six of Heinekin and one for the road–there were seven of us). But I don’t have to wonder because of my handy, dandy Steve Jobsian telly. I don’t have to wonder because my kids told me–Ally was an angel to her roommate’s devil. Jake was sick with a stomach bug that had spread through his frat house, and had an exam. We were fingertip to fingertip, emoji to emoji at midnight on Halloween, an epic holiday in our house for so many years.
Maybe Jake and Ally will have holograms of their children talking to them when they leave for college. But me, I feel lucky to have my little phone, and my big kids. What a great connection.