Maya was about to turn 13, and for her pre-party, had launched a campaign to upgrade to a smart phone – an iphone 5C, to be exact. She had taped posters with the oh-so-subtle “iPhone 5C” in 124 point font on our bathroom mirrors, on the bedroom walls, on the stove backsplash, in our underwear drawers. Until now, she had a phone that allowed her to write texts, but it delivered them only when it was in the mood. It could take pictures, but refused to send them (yes, even with a data plan). Sometimes it just took a day off from work. It wasn’t all bad though – the thing was built like a brick, and the battery lasted forever.
We had been resisting the conversion, and had been vociferous about it. “Smart phones are a non-stop distraction,” we argued. “Just look at your mom. She is hooked. She is a poster child for distracted parenting. Why would we want to throw that kind of hurdle in your way?”
Maya couldn’t argue that, but could rightfully insist that her focus is better than mine, as is her self discipline. All her friends had one, some for years. She had heard my lectures about the dangers inherent in social networking, and could pretty much deliver the lessons from Digital Tat2.
But even as she outwardly made her case, I knew she teetered between hope and resignation. She knew that even if we gave in, it would take us weeks to get the phone, well past the big birthday hoorahs. She knows her parents are not only conservative, but lazy, and no way did she expect me to stand in that line at the Apple store.
But sometimes even glaciers melt and move faster.
I don’t know what it was that thawed us. Maybe it was the treatise she wrote on why she deserves a smart phone. Part of me believed the many promises she put in writing. Maybe it was having the still-kind-of-raw memories of not fitting in, my conviction that being-a-misfit-is-sometimes-good-for-us faltering. Certainly having her sisters – usually her best frenemies – rally for her helped her cause. (Well, only sort of helped. Not to be cynical, but I know they understand the power of precedence.)
So, to cut to the chase:
I got the phone, wrapped it in a bit of gift tissue, and took it with me to our family dinner out two days ago. After we ordered, Srini in cahoots, I announced that after dinner, we would go by the Apple store again, to see if the line is shorter this time. I said I had gone there this morning, the line was ridiculous, and I had given up without trying. Maya’s eyes popped out of her skull: “What?? You went there?” she said in disbelief, as if I had gone to Paris.
“Yes, but there’s no way I’m standing in that line, Bird,” I said. “Plus, they seemed to be on the verge of selling out, and I didn’t wanna waste my time.” Heartbreaking as that was, her joy at having cracked the armor superceded. Her mouth still hung open.
“But we were thinking, since you have been so patient and it is your big birthday, we would get you something to hold you over. We’ll get you the phone eventually, when it’s back in stock and the lines are shorter, but here’s a little something for you now.”
I pulled out the package and handed it to her. Her sisters held their breath. Surprises are fun for everyone. Maya opened the package, saw the iPhone—and just didn’t know how to reconcile the thing in front of her with the story she had just bought.
“Is it fake? Did you buy me a fake phone?” She opened the box, pulled out the phone. She felt it up and down, inspected the box from all angles. Perplexed.
It should have felt like the real thing.
“I don’t get it. Is this thing real?”
LMAO