Phantom Text Message

I was an adorable child. If you want to mess around with semantics, I still am. My parents regularly captured my more photogenic brothers, but I managed to sneak into some photos. That’s me, the smiley sack of potatoes in the background. There is one picture in that prominently features me, though. I’m between 2 and 3 years old, sitting in a bathtub full of ice, casually nursing a severe burn on my leg. Smiling like a slightly fried sack of potatoes.

I had pulled a formica iron off the counter onto my leg while dad was working on our new kitchen. The burn left a patch on my thigh where the nerves in the skin are in perpetual “fell asleep”. Or maybe it was the time I fell out of the barn. Or the time I got hit by a car. Or any other of dozens of traumatic events I remember involving my leg. The only thing I can say for sure is that it wasn’t when my brother shot me (wrong leg.)

This dead patch of nerves is annoying, but not debilitating; I’m not about to apply for special parking privileges. The real problem is how it gets in the way of my daily communications. I won’t get into it, but the leg in question is on the same side of my body as my cell phone pocket. I get false alarm buzzing and vibrating sensations, and I miss actual texts and calls. Twitter updates are out of the question.

What were the odds that repeated injury my leg would leave me out of the social media revolution? What about my kid? The Child has run into a lot of tables and walls learning to walk. She has also sustained a surprising amount of injuries just learning use the toilet. What kind of futuristic space technology will one of these bumps exclude her from? Will she have difficulty logging on to the Holo-Sphere because of that time she jumped and fell in the bathtub? How awful will it be if she can’t get a hover car license because I nicked her thumb in a ham-fisted attempt at fingernail clipping? She could be a social pariah, banished from polite society, forced to waste time using outdated technology, like blogging or facebook. She’ll have to send texts to the only people still using phones: her parents.  A futuristic teen sending non-hyper texts to her parents? The horror.

Plus, if she sends me a text, I wont know when I’ve received it.


About dadisthenewmom

A Level 3 Stay-At-Home-Dad (Chaotic). Master Kid-smith, Animator, Carpenter, Musician, Swordsman and Philanthropist. His physique is to be admired, his values are to be adopted, his bold vision will come to pass, his stride is crab-like. He is aware the last one isn’t overly favorable. Such is DadisthenewMom.
This entry was posted in Boy was the young Dad, Children, Parenting of. Bookmark the permalink.

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