I walked past my daughter’s room the other day, when she called out for me to come in.
“Did you read my message?” meaning that she had texted my cell phone.
“No, No I didn’t. But I am here now”, I said
“Go back, find your cell phone and read the message”. She insisted
I walked back to the other side of our house and looked around for my cell phone. Upon finding it I could confirm that I had “gotten mail”.
“Dear Dad. Don’t you think that I deserve Pizza? If you believe that I am nice, then you can pick it up in the next town, I’ll even call it in for you. smiley faces…..
I never was much for smiley faces in letters, or text messages. Their inherent cuteness is a bit too much for my old school way of thinking, but that was really not the point here, was it?
My children are good at communication. No, not with each other, and definitely not when their parents are “Træls” which is a Danish word for “lousy”, but communication via Smart Phone is one of their greatest achievements.
My son was the one who finally convinced me to make my own Facebook Account. His reasoning: “Then we could talk together via Messenger”. True. True, but my main argument was that we still lived in the same house, and most times were only 6 or so meters away from each other.
Oh. Wait a moment. I’ve just gotten a new text message.
“Hi Dad. Did you get my message about Pizza? Don’t you agree that I deserve a Pizza for being so nice and all? Love your daughter – more smileys.”
This is Pizza- Blackmail! Just because I can be a nice father, attentive to my children’s needs, I’ll have to shell out the money (and the time it takes to fetch it) to prove that fact.
My plan for that moment was to drive to the Grocery store, when I then received a new message. My daughter texted me again. “Dad. Come to my room”. When I arrived she was looking at Pizza again. “Mom says if I pay for the Pizza myself, then I can order one, if I want to”.
“All right. I’ll fetch it. Is it near where the Grocery Store is? No. It wasn’t.” I replied, feeling like I was getting sucked into the black hole of parenthood.
“They were too expensive, but if you just………..” she replied.
So I packed the dog in the car – he likes to hang his head out of the window – and drove in the opposite direction to the other Pizza Parlor. While on the short drive, I heard my Cell Phone ding and dang, numerous times, but there is a hefty fine in Denmark for even thinking about looking at it while driving.
I finally stopped outside of the Pizza Parlor. The messages were from my daughter. “Dad! Why haven’t you answered me? That Pizza Parlor is apparently closed. Now you’ll need to go to the one next to the Grocery Store. Text me when you get there!!”
The dog didn’t seem to mind, but I felt the leash tightening a bit around my neck. So I drove to where I had planned on going all along. The dog barked at the people out of the window, while I tried to remember if I had forgotten anything else on my list.
The Pizza Parlor next to the Grocery Store was filled with pleasant smells, and smiling workers. They spoke in a language unfamiliar to me, but the finished product was after all Pizza, and that was the important thing.
Then the dog got his trip home again, while the Pizza smells wafted through the car.
All of this because I felt it important to keep in touch with my children, utilizing their fine skills of Communication…..
The dog though didn’t care, and got an extended trip in the car, in the car…..