Les miracles qu’a été peint | 17 June 2015 19:13 PDT We never truly had a teenager in our house – though technically speaking, I qualified as I was thirteen. Thanks to the fact that everyone had a phone by sixth grade – besides me. Which, I didn’t mind, the entire time all my friends were completely addicted to their little demon devices, and I felt like I was talking to myself when in reality I was trying to communicate with them. Sometimes they’d randomly start laughing, and I’d turn to see them laughing at whatever had popped up on their screen – then I’d roll my eyes. The word “teenager” had become such a negative term to describe that common type of behaviour among middle-to-high-schoolers. I was glad not to be one.
The reason behind why I never had a phone was because the head of our household didn’t have one – my papa. Only my mother had one – a work phone, though. Papa absolutely despised the tiny screens and keyboards and how teenagers became obsessed with them so quickly. But it would be about to change when papa did get one – because all his friends had one (or more). And so I got one (and I was still thirteen). Papa was still scared I’d become addicted like all the “normal” teenagers. He constantly checked to see if I was on my phone all day – and I’m proud to admit he rarely would. He asked me how many messages I sent the first week. I said around five. When I’d complain I was bored, he asked me why I wasn’t on my phone. I shrugged – (I wasn’t addicted like everyone else). But when I snooped around his territory, there was hardly a time I didn’t find him on his phone. I’d say, Papa, get over here, and there’d be no reply for minutes. Hey, dad. Crickets. Still no reply. I’d walk away. Whatever. I was used to being ignored – since phones were much more important than I according to my friends. We went on vacation for five weeks and I tried to avoid taking pictures at all costs – especially on papa’s phone – since who knew within how many seconds would those pictures of me be all over social media? I rolled my eyes more than I ever did on all other vacations – even I never had social media. My parents used to laugh at those idiots who took pictures of their dinner and sent it all over the Internet – and I did catch a few pictures of food on my phone when my mother borrowed it for five weeks. Um, I survived five weeks without my phone – and I don’t think the rest of them lived it out. I told my mama, “I think we officially got a teenager. And it ain’t me.”
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