I witness the generation gap widening at home every day, regardless of my relentless efforts to get my teenagers to communicate. They still mostly pick up the phone when I call, because that was the agreement we made years ago when I said I would pay the bill, but they are short now and often miss my call, only to shoot me a short text of their whereabouts and time of arrival. They are part of a new generation of communicators and even though I have full text capability, I cannot keep up with their lightening speed on their keyboard and for me, when we text, there is always more that I want to know, to hear from them. I suppose this is precisely why they text. In part, I grew up with the phone as my lifeline. I have vivid memories of the stretched out curly cord, wrapped around the dining room entrance to have some privacy in my teen years. I remember waiting by the phone for it to ring. I remember the sadness of not getting the call, the frustration of busy signals, and the relief of finally hearing my friend or boyfriend’s voice on the other end.