The Telephone Game

Sometimes it feels like communicating with a teenager is like playing the old Telephone Game, where we pretended we could hear a voice carry via string from one soup can to another.

The problem today is not that I can't hear through the can. The problem is that I am holding both cans. The current teenager in my mind is not picking up the can to call or answer.

I seem to recall that we gave him a cell phone to use and call his own AND a car to use and call his own – but when he uses one, he needs to use the other to let us know where he's at. Having some freedom does not mean freedom from asking permission. What we don't know only worries us.

Well, me, anyway.

Typically, when Carter works on a weekday, he puts in a few hours in the morning at the golf course, mainly cleaning bathrooms and vacuuming (two skill sets I have yet to see used at home). So today, when I arrived home from work after 5:30 p.m., I was a bit concerned neither Dad nor I had heard from him today. I had sent him a text earlier in the day and he hadn't responded. I sent him a text again at supper time to see where he was at and he did respond that he was still at work.

When he finally came home, cranky after a long day of work (like most of us), he explained (after much prodding) that he had to help at a golf outing and it was delayed 4 hours due to rain.

"So what did you do for four hours?" I asked, in I am sure what came across as an accusatory tone.

He replied that he went to Audrey's, his former, longtime babysitter, and visited her and the kids who still ask for him after all this time.

OK, so bite your tongue, Mom. You can't always assume the worst! How someone can be both cranky and kind in the same afternoon is beyond me.

Oh wait, someone is finally calling my soup can. "Hello, this is your mirror. Do you see anybody else who can master cranky and kind in one day?"

Ugh. I wish I had Caller I.D. on this thing.