I chose my hill to die on last week, and that hill is called Verizon.
Saturday morning my 11-year-old son and I visited our local provider to purchase his first cell phone. It’s a rite of passage in our household: Entrance into middle school grants you the privilege of owning your own mobile phone … with one caveat:
You start with a basic, no-bells-and-whistles flip phone. Rowan’s older brother had received his own flip phone in sixth grade and graduated to a smartphone halfway through middle school, and Rowan would follow suit.
Rowan understood and was on board with this. In fact, he was excited about the prospect of owning his very own cell phone.
But all that changed the moment we stepped through the double doors. Faced with the tantalizing array of smart phones and tablets lining the walls and festooning the display tables, complete with all their technological accoutrement—shiny cases, colorful earbuds, miniature speakers—Rowan crumbled. He argued and pleaded for the entire forty-five minutes we were in the store, and when we finally stepped into the parking lot, flip phone in hand, I could tell my son was trying hard to suppress tears.
…Read more about how and why I held my ground on the uber uncool flip phone over at For Her magazine today...
