My Struggle With Social Media.

KATE HENRIKSON
Jul 24, 2017 · 6 min read

My Dad was a pilot for a major cargo company. He flew everywhere for days at a time. In a world before cellphones, how does a man receive instant information about the status of his family while he’s away and not get charged for long distance?

These are called “Pay Phones”.

Dad purchased a 1–800 number. That means anywhere there was a pay phone, Dad could make a call home.

He was big on “checking-in” and we kids were no exception. My brothers and I played sports growing up. When we had away games, the last thing Dad would say before we were out the door was, “call me when you get there, call me when you leave”. He’d say this while sitting in his spot on the couch switching between the morning news shows, flipping through the Wall Street Journal, chain smoking, drinking Decaf, and never once making eye contact.

While Dad flew throughout our grad school and high school years, the 800 number became an invisible force field to keep us close to the house. Dad could be gone for five days and in that time, we’d get a call home when he landed, a call when he checked in to the hotel, another call in the morning and again before he flew out to another city.

We were to never miss a call. You could, but don’t. Between my brothers, my mom, and me, someone was around to pick up the phone to Dad’s recurring opener line: “Give me the briefing”.

My brothers and I in our Sunday’s Best: Farmers Edition

Let me also remind all three of you reading this that I grew up on a farm. My mom grew up on the concrete streets of a big city. My dad was raised with dirt under his feet in the Mid West. My mom was watching over four kids, around 100 pigs and handful of other animals. Looking back on it, I think my dad’s was checking in to make sure the farm did not burn down while he was away. Kudos to Mom for pulling off all that work for all those years. It is just impressive.

Today, there is a large population who status update the world more than they wash their hands per day. Growing up, it made going out with friends somewhat debilitating and embarrassing. None of my friends had to call in to their parents to report on every location change.

The check-in conversations with my dad were to be brief, ie 140 characters or less. “We just got to the theater. The movie is an hour and a half… We left the movie theater and we are getting food at Taco Bell…. Just left Taco Bell to going to Rite Aid… About to get picked up at Rite Aid, I’ll be home in 25 minutes.”

I was envious of friends that could wave good-bye to their parents, not talk to them for hours and come home without explaining the details of their day.

By the time I was college bound, Dad was retiring from flying. Oh how the tables had turned! Now he was always at home manning the farm and I would be attending college.

Let freedom ring!

Kinda. New Rule: call home once a day while in college.

The 800 number still existed. The best part about an 800 number in college? I could go anywhere in country and still oblige his only rule.

During freshman year, my then-boyfriend was in the Navy and stationed on the east coast after basic training. Being in puppy love, I hopped on a plane for a weekend to see him. When I got to the hotel, I called Dad on the 800 number to “give the briefing” on my classes, homework for the weekend and how I’m excited I am to watch the Arizona State football game Saturday morning. I just left out the detail that I was doing this 3,000 miles away. Thanks, 800 number!

Those who knew my dad and his assertive parenting style, thought I was going to go nuts with my new-found freedom. My time during college was not a Breaking Amish style of raging in the nightlife, or taking copious amounts of drugs and alcohol. I was simply relishing in the fact that no one knew what I was doing or where I was at any given time of the day. I would call to check in to comfort my dad but the rest of the day was my own private boring adventure. To hang out in a friend’s dorm room, or taking a spontaneous road trip, or make a 2am trip to Wal-Mart without the shackle of updating my dad on my every move, to me, it was a glorious thing.

For the first 23 years of my life this man inquired about my every move, and thought. When Twitter was explained to me in 2008 by my best friend who said, “It’s like a text message to everyone about what you’re doing!” I couldn’t wrap my head around it.

It is a social device where its only intention was to update others on your location and thoughts. I was sure it would have a short lifespan; Dad was the family Twitter and we all hated it.

There are 328 million active users on Twitter each month. My family nuisance has become a worldwide revolution, connecting anyone to everyone by using a gadget that demands; “Give me the briefing”.

I struggle with the fact social media is very useful in staying relevant in the entertainment business or simply branding yourself in whatever career you take on. You want people to follow you, like you, stay in the know of where you are and with whom. It’s also turned in to a huge way we consume news.

When someone posts their location, it seems disturbing that “followers” know your every move. At least in college I gave my dad the illusion that I was safe at home. We all learned that creepy lesson to be more careful on our whereabouts, right Paris Hilton, Kim K, etc.?

I still enjoy the freeing moments when no one knows where I am. Like a moment when I’m on a beach in Mexico and wish I had a friend to capture it on my iPhone, load it to Snapchat, edit an Earlybird filter on it, post it to Insta and link it to my Twitter and Facebook.

I have yet to tell my dad I took this trip to Mexico.

I have 194 followers on Twitter. My dad is not one of them.

I bet he’s moved on to tracking devises.

Today, I can still call home via pay phone. If I can find one.

KATE HENRIKSON

Written by

A retired pig farmer from Northern California who tells stories, shares thoughts and seeks out other pineapple-on-pizza lovers. Collaboration > Competition.

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