Whenever I flash my cell phone (a very classy LG Cosmos 3), there is an instant look of concern and befuddlement. The idea of a teenager without a smart phone is apparently so ludicrous that many jump to the conclusion that I:

a)Come from a broken home devoid of the love and care that I deserve as a young adult in today’s modern society.

b)Am so lacking in funds and/or financial skills that someone needs to budget how my paycheck should be managed so as to maintain a data plan.

c)Am purposefully intending to come across as an above-it-all hipster (which, if I am being completely honest, isn’t that far of a leap if you take a look at my glasses).
I assure you that none of these assumptions are correct and that there really is no need to dial up social services at the traumatizing sight of a seventeen year old without a data plan or a touchscreen. My disillusionment with cell phones was a fairly swift transition after receiving my own and dealing with the problems that arise from these so-called symbols of technology’s advancements. This Luddite-esque perspective that confuses people is something second nature to me from the time it was ingrained into me as a child.

My father was, and still is, the epitome of frugality. He never understood the desire to keep up with the Jones or any other zeitgeist-y trend—including cell phones. His utter lack of concern for having a cell phone was the bane of my and my mother’s existence for years before he finally succumbed to buying a phone. I can still remember arguments between him and my mother concerning the topic of cell phones when they were gaining real momentum just over ten years ago.

As they would debate on the topic, my ear would stay pressed against the cold, glossy door of my parents’ bedroom, as my baby brother and I leaned in and anxiously exchanged hopeful smiles to one another, waiting for the bickering to cease and to hear the latest verdict on the possibility of cell phones entering the Yost household. While they deliberated and we pressed closer against the door, I could feel my heartbeat reverberate in the quiet hallway. At the time, phones were foreign and exciting, a fascinating new toy to play with that refused to leave my mind; but then again, I was seven, so everything that didn’t reside within a half block radius of my house fascinated me to no end. However, every time they came outside with the latest decision, the speech was always the same. My father would say, “Well, your mother and I have discussed it, but-“

Ah, the but.

The moment it came out of my father’s mouth we knew it was over, at least for this round. Quite frankly, I don’t actually remember much after that first line with the exception of, what seemed to me as a seven year old, some extraordinarily ridiculous reasons as to why the decision was no once again. After the speech, my brother and I would continue to pout for a while longer while keeping our legs glued to our rough, shaggy carpet in attempt to change my father’s mind sit-in protester style.

My mom would then purse her lips and stalk out of the hallway to finish watching her Hallmark channel re-runs of Murder, She Wrote, while muttering things like, “Even Angela Landsbury has her own freakin’ cell phone in a 90’s television show but God forbid the family moves into the twenty first century.”

Looking back on it now, I am fairly certain that she was trying to guilt trip my dad in an effort to update the family’s tech gear, but my father, the ever-stoic caveman in regards to technology, was immune to her mutterings.

However, it wasn’t too far in the near future when my mom finally convinced my father to change his mind. And now to me, as a sixth grader listening to the news, it seemed as though heaven had opened and angels on high had answered my prayers to get a cell phone. I was a smiling mess bouncing on the edge of the oak chair that complemented my dining room table. It was happening! I was finally getting a cell phone! I could talk to Jes or Char or whoever I wanted for as long as I wanted without having to listen to my parents telling me to stop hogging the main line! With the excitement of an audience member receiving a car from Oprah, I frantically shouted, “What type of phone am I getting!? Is it a slide? Or a flip phone? Oh honestly who cares! I’m getting a cell phone!!!”

My dad very quickly shook me out of my reverie, quickly responding, “Kate, were you listening? It’s only me and mom getting cell phones. You’re going to have to wait to get your own for another couple of years. You realize that you are far too young to have cell phone. What do you even need one for?”

What do I need it for? Is he nuts? I thought. I am sixth grader whose cool factor just rose with my newfangled ability to straighten my hair. Of course I need a cell phone!

It sounds ridiculous looking back on my fixation of cell phones, but as a small-minded sixth grader “whose cool factor just rose” getting a cell phone was my number one priority. All of my friends were playing with their fancy new slide phones or even for some very lucky (and rich) kids—a touchscreen phone. It seemed while everyone else was quickly progressing into the new frontiers of technology, I was eternally stuck being that weird kid who just brushes their fingers along the glossy new phone imports of Walmart’s dingy electronics department and for the foreseeable future I was. For the next three years I would go on to steal my mother’s phone to bring to parties and school dances, I would quote sales reviews of cell phones my friends would discuss at lunch or in the hallways, and ultimately have three incredibly loud verbal sparring matches with my father as to why I need a cell phone immediately.

But then the day finally came when it was my turn to get a phone and I was never more satisfied at that point when I pushed my hand against the cool glass of the store door and heard the little cling of the entrance bells at the Verizon store, knowing that this was the day I get my phone. No more stealing my mom’s phone, no more faked sympathy for the cell phone issues of my friends. Now I was the one who text when I wanted to and call whomever I needed and those phone issues I faked sympathy for would now be my own! My phone was bought and added to the family plan, just in time for summer vacation. As I pressed my fingers against the sleek, hard keys of the gorgeous, cherry-red slide phone, I couldn’t wait to begin my journey as a normal teenager who sits on their couch and stares at their phone all day. In fact, within the first two weeks of receiving this new device I had already sent close to five hundred text messages (rest assured, unlike my thirteen year old self, I no longer view this as an accomplishment). The adoration I felt for that phone far surpassed any guy I had had a crush on during middle school or any television show that I was enamored with in the B.P. era (before phone).

However, fairly quickly after that, I realized I was still one step behind. The age of the smart phone had begun and now instead of drooling over my own phone going into high school, I was drooling over the brand new smart phones of my classmates. All could do was hope and pray that my parents would let me upgrade my silly little dumb phone to that of a sparkling new smart phone. But, they never did allow that to happen. I fought with them over the subject, but they never budged and for that I am grateful.

While I fretted over not having the best phone or data plan of my classmates the first year or two of high school, I finally realized that having a smart phone means practically nothing. The worry I felt over not having a data plan or a smart phone quickly dissipated once I realized that a smartphone doesn’t mean a better social life or more friends, it simply just means that someone now has the ability to google at their leisure “Dog Falls into Swimming Pool while trying to scratch its own nose”. Looking back on the fear I felt over being judged for having a not-so-stellar phone really made me think about whether or not I actually wanted people to like me for what I had or who I was and, to be honest, it wasn’t for a while when I realized that the two weren’t intertwined, or at least they shouldn’t be. And once I understood that I was allowing my obsession with keeping up with the Joneses to consume how I thought and what I did and what knowledge and understanding of the world I sought, I began to understand how little having a smart phone really does me any good. Because staying dumb in a world of smart phones has shown me that I don’t need a touchscreen to define who I am, but rather that it’s up to me to figure that out.