Shortly after I got my driver’s license, I inherited my parents 1978 Caprice Classic station wagon. It was big and boxy–two tons of steel and chrome forged into an American monolith of reliable family transportation. The body of the car was starting to rust and the seat coverings were starting to break down and patched together with packing tape. It was easily one of least cool cars in the student parking lot at Fayetteville-Manlius High School. But none of that mattered, it was still four wheels powered by a gasoline engine. Having a car in high school meant I could go whenever I wanted to and opened up my world. It was my freedom.
Much like me getting access to my parents’ third car, Ryan recently inherited my old cell phone. It’s big and somewhat boxy–five ounces of Apple engineering manufactured in China. It’s an antique by today’s electronic standards and the battery lasts about a half a day. Both the front screen and the back case are cracked from repeated fumbles. In fact, my old phone has hit the ground so often it doesn’t know right side up–it’s often “confused” if it should be in portrait or landscape orientation. But to Ryan, none of that matters. Having a phone in middle school means Ryan can do what he wants, at least digitally. It is his freedom.
Getting a phone at 13 years and 239 days old, Ryan is absolutely late to the cellular party. The average age to get a smartphone is 10 years old and likely trending downward. Just drive by any middle school and watch the natives outside the building waiting for the first bell to ring. Everyone is scrolling, texting, or watching videos. Previously, I told Ryan I could give him an old pocket calculator to stare at before school, and I don’t think anyone would be none the wiser. It’s easy to criticize the middle schoolers for their dependence on their electronic pacifiers, but we were the same exact way. If someone brought the Mattel handheld football game or a Game Boy to school, we would flock around that electronics owner like he had just invented fire. Who are we to criticize today’s teengagers for participating in the best entertainment available when we did the same exact thing?
Lack of landlines have decreased the opportunity of children to direct their own social agenda. About third or fourth grade, I was calling friends to arrange football games or sleepovers. A few years later, when trips to the mall were critical to the social scene, the “can your mom drive us there if my mom picks us up” phone call was commonplace. In high school, any friend calling the Matsumoto’s was a little scared at how deep my father’s voice was. And when you called a friend’s house and got one of their parents, it was important to know how to tactfully and respectfully ask for your friend. But without families having that home phone line, communication now has to be directed at specific individuals. Before a majority of his friends had phones, Ryan wasn’t going to borrow Jenni’s phone to call his friend’s mom to arrange a sleepover. If Ryan wanted to make plans he had to initiate that social agenda in school or after a baseball game. Otherwise, it had to be a matter of Jenni and another mom texting each other to arrange plans for their sons.
Ryan’s made a new friend on his current baseball team. They play shortstop and second base as well as hit in the first two batting spots–it’s an endearing undersized middle-infielder friendship. With the season coming to an end, Ryan was hoping to stay in touch with his teammate. Phone-less yet resourceful, Ryan recently offered that he could give his new friend his mom’s phone number. The shortstop responded with, “That’s kind of weird, bro.” So there was poor Ryan, one of the last teenagers in America without a cell phone.
The time had come. Jenni and I were finally ready to invite another Verizon line into the house. We decided a ceremony should mark this event and quickly created the ritual known as Phone Acquisition Day. An agenda was quickly generated and Jenni used her graphic design skills to crank out the program. “Circle of Life” seemed to be the appropriate opening musical number as my old phone was carried to our backyard deck. Jenni made some welcoming remarks and my favorite part was when she asked “all the recipients of a phone to please step forward.” Ryan put his hand on the iPhone 8 Plus and took the following oath:
I, Ryan Drew Matsumoto, solemnly swear to take good care of this mobile device / I will protect it from as many bumps and cracks as I can / I shall internet responsibly / I will unplug at dinner / I will communicate efficiently and effectively / I will honor my parent’s trust in me / I will use it in good health and with noble intentions
Over-the-top symbolic and excessively absurd? Absolutely. You may not be familiar with Jenni & Steve Matsumoto, but that’s our parenting bread and butter. I 100% acknowledge the intended elements of comedy in Phone Acquisition Day. But as in any joke, there was a kernel of truth we’re hoping to germinate in Ryan’s life. We made a big deal about our son getting a phone because IT IS A BIG DEAL! We want him to take care of his things, use the Internet responsibly, honor the trust we’ve put in him. Like a doctor first donning his white lab coat, we created a ritual around the experience to acknowledge the privilege and responsibility we believe he’s ready for.
The first weekend after having a phone, Ryan arranged multiple get togethers with friends. He has also amassed a healthy collection of games and the ability to play Brawl Stars whenever he wants is “livin’ large” to my thirteen year old. He’s collected not only the shortstop’s number, but most of the Little Little team is in a group chat together. So as we drive home from practice, there’s an inane text thread conversation consisting of GIFs, baseball emojis, and a chorus of the ever-popular “SHEESH!” There’s a big smile on my son’s face as he chastises the center field for spamming the thread with blue hats and I know he loves being in the middle of this conversation. Just like my first car did for me, Ryan’s phone has taken him where he wants to be.
Love this!
Thanks Robin!