“I hate this stupid thing, and I’m sending it back!”
That pretty well summed up my feelings about my first “real” cell phone. From the beginning, that shiny little contraption felt more like a nuisance than a necessity. I hated the idea of being tethered to a device that buzzed, chimed, rang, and seemed to demand my attention at all hours.
Before that, I had managed just fine with inexpensive flip phones, the kind I used mostly for vacations or emergencies. I’d pay a modest monthly fee, keep the phone tucked away in my purse or glove compartment, and think very little about it. They were simple, practical, and wonderfully unintrusive. Eventually, I’d forget to refill the minutes, the service would expire, and that would be the end of that. Truthfully that arrangement suited me just fine.
And oh, the horror. At one point, some of my eighth graders discovered I carried what looked suspiciously like a burner phone. Naturally, they decided this was hilarious. One of them grinned and announced that I looked like a drug dealer. I just gave them the teacher look—the one that could stop nonsense in its tracks—and said, “You watch too much TV.” They laughed, and I did too, though I still had no intention of becoming one of those people with a phone permanently attached to their hand.
Back then, I liked life the old-fashioned way. Phones, in my opinion, belonged on the kitchen wall, right where they were easy to find, hard to lose, and simple to ignore when I didn’t feel like answering them. I never worried about leaving the house without one. In fact, I preferred it. There was something freeing about being unreachable.
But life has a way of changing our minds, whether we want it to or not. After a medical mishap that rattled all of us, my daughter decided enough was enough. She informed me that it was time for me to get a real phone. Otherwise, she threatened that she would simply buy me a Life Alert. I wasn’t exactly inspired by either option,
Still, I’ll admit, for a moment I found the idea of a Life Alert mildly entertaining. I imagined pressing the button and having a truckload of handsome firefighters come rushing to my rescue. But Leslie was quick to ruin that fantasy. She informed me that if I kept pushing it for no good reason, eventually they’d send the sheriff instead. That was a total buzz kill.
So, with all the enthusiasm of a child being marched into the principal’s office, I reluctantly accepted my fate. It was time for this dinosaur to step into the twenty-first century. I didn’t have to like it, though, and to make matters worse, my new smartphone immediately proved itself to be far smarter than I was.
In those early days, my family found my struggles highly amusing. So did my students. If I accidentally opened the wrong app, lost a text message, or couldn’t figure out why the screen had suddenly gone dark, there was always someone nearby ready to laugh first and help second. To be fair, they did help this Grammy learn her way around the mysterious little machine, even if they enjoyed the show along the way.
Little by little, I became less suspicious of the thing. What began as a forced relationship slowly softened into something like friendship. Against all odds, I grew to like my phone—and eventually, if I’m being honest, I grew to love it just a little.
After all, who wouldn’t appreciate having a camera always within reach, ready to capture a sweet moment, a mountain view, or a grandchild’s grin? I discovered the joy of listening to audiobooks whenever the mood struck. I abandoned my old alarm clock without a second thought, because the one on my phone was infinitely more convenient. On road trips, I no longer had to squint at paper maps or hope I had written directions down correctly. With a tap, I could find my way anywhere. My favorite music traveled with me too, turning an ordinary drive or workout into something a little more enjoyable.
And then there were the texts from my kids—those quick little messages that somehow made the miles between us feel smaller. Those may have been my favorite part of all.
So yes, much to my own surprise, that phone I once threatened to send back has become a trusted sidekick. It turns out this old dog could learn a few new tricks after all. And, I’ve decided that nobody puts Baby in the corner—or, in my case, back on the kitchen wall.
Oh, and this picture? Captured on my iPhone.
Tales of a Family 