Mom finally gets the (text) message

The tiny little screen on my cell phone taunts me.

Millions of teenagers text every day, I remind myself. Most are, right now, texting their way through high school math class. If they can do it, so can I.

I am determined not to fall behind in the technology race, but quite frankly I wish it were more of a relay than a sprint. At least that way I could hand off the baton when I got too tired to keep up. I can't blame it on age, either, though there is something to be said for technology being our kids' native language. But our parents aren't exactly intimidated by technological advancement. I recently had dinner with a 67-year-old man who whipped out his Blackberry to show me some family photos, and moments later, checked his calendar on the Blackberry and sent an e-mail from its tiny keypad to confirm a meeting. No, I think it's really a matter of desire to be part of the information age.

Actually, I'm managing to muddle my way through a good portion of the 21st century just fine. Turns out it's the simplest of devices that stumps me: the cell phone.

My eighth-grader has a cell phone, and when we bought the plan I almost opted out of the $4 extra for unlimited text messages. At 10 cents a pop I thought, how many messages can a kid rack up? Turns out, if I hadn't gone with "the plan" we'd have been making payments on all those texts until he graduates high school.

One recent afternoon Nick and I were headed to do some shopping, and in the course of the morning his phone rang so many times I thought there must be something wrong. So I checked through the mass of messages to see what was going on. Turns out, nothing. Nada. Zilch. Here's how one text exchange went:

"hey"

"whats up"

"nothin U"

"eatin lunch"

"Cya"

"bye"

That'll be 60 cents, please. I was certain when I scanned the inbox on his phone there were going to be some juicy details, some innermost teenage thoughts revealed on the little screen. Not so much. Unless " whats up" qualifies as teenage angst, I'm still in the dark. I just don't get the thrill of staying in constant communication and am certainly annoyed by the expectation that it's necessarily a good thing. Still, I have to remind myself that it'll be a very long adolescence if I can't master this one simple communication technique. I may shelter my kids from a lot of typical American media hype, but I certainly don't want them at a disadvantage when it comes to living in the world we've created. So rather than dismiss something that is obviously a very important part of their culture, I decided to try embracing it.

Which leads me to the part of the story where I am staring at a tiny little screen, my not-so-nimble fingers diligently working to text a message to my son. My hope is that we may develop a new way of communicating and, secretly, that he'll think it's a little hip that his mom texts him. Then again, he would wince if he actually heard me say "hip."

I laboriously peck through the alphabet (who decided it was a good idea to have numbers and letters on the same little pad anyway?), trying to send one simple text message. Eight minutes and three tries later - this would have taken roughly three seconds for any 14-year-old worth her salt - I confidently push "send," smiling at my newfound skill.

My message reads: "Ridd the Bus hom."

With any luck, he'll just call me back the old-fashioned way.



Charla Belinski writes for the Glenwood Springs Post Independent and a variety of publications. She also teaches parenting classes at YouthZone in the Aspen and Basalt area. Contact her at Belinskis@comcast.net.