I hate that phone, I thought. We were headed to the store, but as usual my 15-year-old daughter, Haley, was texting someone on her cell phone instead of having a conversation with me, her mother, who was sitting not two feet away.
Her head was down, her long dark hair falling across her cheeks, and she had that mysterious teenage expression that said she was communicating something of great personal urgency. Maybe something about that secret admirer she had inadvertently mentioned a few days earlier.
“Who are you texting?” I asked.
“Just Annika, Mom.”
“Why don’t you give it a rest? You’re on that phone constantly.”
Haley sighed. “Constantly? Really?” She swiped her thumb across the screen, shutting off communication with her best friend–at least for a few seconds. She folded her arms and stared out the window.
Once again I’d lost the battle for my daughter’s fleeting attention. I gripped the steering wheel and looked for some other opening, some way to engage her. But how could I compete with that phone? She could practically talk to three people at once!
Once upon a time I was number one on Haley’s radar. She couldn’t seem to get enough of me. Car rides were an opportunity to fire a barrage of questions and commentary: about her friends, family, school, movies, her guinea pig Miss Piggy. She loved playing a game called the favorites.
“Mom,” she’d say, “what’s your favorite food? What’s your favorite color? What’s your favorite animal?” Then, when she’d run out of those questions, she’d start asking me what my least favorite food or color or animal was.
One car ride when my mind wandered, she abruptly stopped her questions, sensing my preoccupation. “Mom, am I talking too much?” she asked.
We burst out laughing. I should have told her then how much I loved her constant chatter. Now all chatter went through her phone, which seemed permanently attached to her hand.
We’d gotten Haley a cell phone in junior high so she could let us know where she was, if she went to a friend’s house, if she had something to do after school. She didn’t abuse her privileges and I felt comfortable knowing she could call us whenever she needed to.
Then we bought an extra smart phone that we’d recently passed along to her with the understanding that we didn’t want her talking for hours with her friends. Talking? That was so old school. Haley kept up with everyone with her thumbs, texting incessantly.
It wasn’t like I was some Luddite. I found my own cell phone indispensable and texting superefficient. I just hated to be frozen out of Haley’s life. I wondered what she was thinking about school, friends, church. She used to talk to me about everything, even her spiritual life. Not anymore.
We pulled into the supermarket parking lot and walked silently inside. Haley went her own way. I spotted her at the end of one aisle, staring down at her phone, her thumbs a blur of motion. I felt miles away from her.
I filled up my shopping cart and scanned the aisles for Haley’s dark head. Nowhere to be seen. I took out my phone and sent a quick text: Meet me at checkout. A moment later she materialized. Okay, that worked. Better than yelling. I didn’t normally text Haley, other than little practical things.
At home she helped me unload the groceries, then disappeared into her bedroom. I knew she had homework to do, but still I missed her hanging out in the kitchen to chat while I cooked dinner.
Those days were over. I washed the lettuce in silence, asking God for reassurance that I was not being replaced in my daughter’s life by five inches of plastic and a couple of microchips.
Later that night I plugged in my phone and noticed that the screen saver had been mysteriously changed. But there was no doubt who the hacker was. A cute, silly close-up of Haley, her grin goofy, teeth covered in braces, eyes big, stared back at me playfully.
I put the phone down, then picked it up again and studied that almost grown-up face. I remembered how I used to write her notes and put them in her lunch box. Short messages accompanied by stick-figure drawings and hearts.
The next day I thought of Haley at school. I looked at my watch. Lunch period. If I sent her a text now it wouldn’t interrupt anything, and anyway, you could read a text and respond when it was convenient. Not like phone calls.
So…did you see your secret admirer at school today? I typed. I added a smiley emoticon.
Haley responded almost immediately. Yes. Not so secret! LOL. SO awkward. :O
The mouth open in horror made me laugh.
Haha. Well, good luck with that. Have a great day!
It was a small thing, but I felt a little more included in my daughter’s day and in her life.
After that I looked for opportunities to share quick notes or photos with Haley when we were apart. We quoted lines from movies and even created our own quirky emoticons. Just like those stick figures from not so long ago.
Sometimes our texts were silly. And sometimes they were surprisingly personal, even revealing.
One day she went off to school worried about how she had done on a big math test. How’s it going? I texted at lunch. Find out about the test?
Yes…I have to retake it. A frowning emoticon followed. But my teacher is going to help me study and God has given me peace about it.
It caught me off guard. We hadn’t had conversations like that in a while. In fact, I was pretty sure she wouldn’t have revealed anything so personal sitting next to me on the way to the grocery store.
That’s great, sweetie! You’ll do fine. I’ll help too. See ya when you get home. I <3 u!
Part of growing up is establishing your independence. Lord knows I was a handful for my mom.
Yet that struggle can bring you closer too. Texting is how Haley communicates, and isn’t love all about communicating? And thanks to an increasingly digital world I can communicate with my daughter in more ways than ever. That’s what being a mom is all about.
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