WriteRunRead Blog

“Julie, phone for you!” Announced my mother from the kitchen (30 years ago).   “Coming!” I yelled back, scurrying to the wall-mounted Bell phone with a curly cord that was always getting tied up in knots.   That was how I received a phone call when I was a kid. Sometime in junior high, they gave me a phone in my room – a diligently monitored phone, considering I had two sisters who liked to talk to their friends too. My how things have changed.   Do we even have a clue who our kids are talking to?   Wait, I mean, who they are TEXTING? My parents knew who I was communicating with; there was no way to avoid it.   And if a call lasted too long, well, you can be sure I would hear about it.   And when I had a boyfriend in high school, I remember my father getting so upset that I had “tied up” the line for so long that he walked into my room and “ripped” the phone out of the wall.   Can our kids even comprehend that that was possible: to rip a phone out...

As my son is virtually out the door for his sixth straight summer away at camp, I am - how I always am at this moment: melancholy. He’s my first child, my active boy who kept me on my toes throughout toddlerhood “and beyond!” Now he’s 14, athletic, tenacious and leaving again.  One thing I didn’t mention: he’s aware.  More than I realized. As a fairly liberal person, I’m always trying to get certain messages across: allow people to be who they are, don’t label, judge, try to care about those less fortunate than you.  Try to understand the plight of your fellow woman and man, kid and teenager, especially when they are different from you. There’s no tolerance for no tolerance in my heart.  Give to the needy, care about the uneducated, count your blessings, have empathy. The other day in the car, he said, “Mom, there’s a song I downloaded by Macklemore [and Ryan Lewis], that I think you will like.” I said, “Let’s hear it.”  Macklemore is a fairly new Hip Hop ar...

It’s in my car, at the grocery store, in the bathroom and in bed with my kids.   I’ve never seen anything like it, not Facebook or regular texting or even that Snapchat thing.   It’s alive. I asked my 12 year-old what the big deal is with this (not so) new “app.” She said, “I don’t know, I guess it's because everyone is on it so you always know what everyone is up to.”   That’s how she summed it up.   I think that really is Instagram’s “reason for being.”   But it’s beginning to seem like it’s my kids’ reason for being -- too.   Then there are the coded comments under each photo, be it painted toenails, a bikini-clad teen, or a new pair of Jordans: “stunna”, perf babe, ily, ilysm, omg flawless!   I’m starting to wonder about the sincerity of the next generation.   If every photo of a tween or teen is followed by 10 or 15 “omg flawlesses” how can each one really mean anything?   Is the recipient of the countless grat...

When I ask my kids, “How was school?” -- the usual response is a mumbled, “Fine” or “Whatever” or “Okay.”  When I press for more information, like, “What happened at school” or “What’s new at school,” they usually say, “Nothin’.”  That’s probably true on most days.  And when they finally get out of school for the day, the last thing on earth they feel like talking about is… school! But just the other day, both of my kids told me separately, during a quiet moment, that there was a lockdown drill during the school day. First, while doing her homework, my 12 year-old daughter said, “You know, we had a lockdown drill today.”  I was caught off guard.  I forgot the school was conducting them and suddenly felt scared and protective and was reminded of my girl’s vulnerability, all at the same time.   “Wow, what do you do during a lockdown drill, was it scary?”  I asked.  Realizing right away that I shouldn’t have thrown in the -- “was it scary” -- par...