Dé hAoine, Márta 06, 2009

My Mom Recently Learned How to Text.

She'll reach me that way three or four times a week now.

I didn't teach her how, nor would I have, knowing what it would lead to. It was my cousin DJ, one of the cousins that lives on the other side of the country who I've seen six or seven times in my life, the sort of cousin whose affairs my mother will tell me about every now and again and I have to pretend to care so as not to shock her out of her sensibilities.

Dj texted me a few months ago. I didn't know who it was and so told her to fuck off. This is still a great joke within the extended family, or at least it provides them with one more excuse to carry on with their endless crude loud-mouth yammering over the holidays.

It was my dad who suggested that DJ send me a text, since, after all, I "like to text." Is that how he actually sees it? He's at least vaguely aware of the endless and ever-growing means of interpersonal communication available today. Does he not realize how matter-of-fact and natural it is for those of us who grew up with it? Text messaging is a tool that I've had for five years, which practically speaking is forever. It is a tool that has a specific place and specific function just like any other. I take no personal pleasure in texting that I don't get from Facebook chat or actually talking over the phone, and why would I? There is no piece of technology that has fascinated me since I was twelve years old Dad. Once it became clear that technology is indeed capable of everything, well, what is there after that? Pretty categorical isn't it?

It's a pity that my sister is a confirmed bachelor. I've missed the chance to see if I am doomed to assume that my children are hard-wired to be fast friends with distant cousins.

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