I walked for miles and miles Over the Hill on the Yellow Brick Road and finally plopped down on a park bench. I was exhausted. A moment later, an older mobile phone sat down beside me. I sighed. The mobile phone asked:
MOBILE PHONE: What’s wrong?
Well, I don’t mean to be rude, but a mobile phone is the last thing I need to see right now.
MOBILE PHONE: Why? What did I do?
Nothing. It’s just that you’re a painful reminder of my daughter’s move to the other side of the country. My relationship with her has been reduced to text messages and calls on a phone like you.
MOBILE PHONE: Don’t I know it. Social media is killing me. I’m constantly working. Why do you think I look this way? Smashed screen. My keys don’t tap properly. My battery is dying. I need to retire but my owner isn’t due for an upgrade.
I’m sorry to hear that. I’ve never looked at it that way.
MOBILE PHONE: And I’ve never seen it through your eyes. What’s bothering you about mobile phones. We’re working our butts off for ya.
Do you really want to know?
MOBILE PHONE: I can take it.
Here goes. My daughter will text me about something that makes her happy. Like, last week she had a surprise birthday party. She texted me a photo of herself with her friends, but I didn’t get to hear everyone shout “Surprise!” when she walked in the room. I missed that moment.
MOBILE PHONE: Uh huh–
And when my daughter isn’t feeling well, she calls me. I can hear her raspy voice on the phone, but I can’t be there to give her tea and toast.
MOBILE PHONE: Uh huh–
Last night was the worst. My daughter made herself a nice dinner. She texted a photo of it, but I couldn’t be there to taste it with her.
MOBILE PHONE: Right—
And over the weekend, my daughter sent a Snapchat of herself at the end of a marathon she’d just run. But I couldn’t watch her cross the finish line.
MOBILE PHONE: But–
And about a month ago, my daughter texted me when she was afraid of the out-of-control fires in California. She texted there was smog and smoke in the air, but I couldn’t be there to smell it. I couldn’t be part of her experience. At all.
MOBILE PHONE: Okay, okay. Stop. I get it. As a mobile phone, I have my limits. You can’t see, hear, smell or taste experiences you’d like to have with your daughter.
I couldn’t have said it better.
MOBILE PHONE: But each time your daughter contacts you, there’s something you can feel.
MOBILE PHONE: Her love.