“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...