I don't Get Texting

I Don’t Get Texting

I grew up in the 80s and 90s.

We talked on the phone. Not just talked — we lived on the phone. Cord stretched from the kitchen to the bedroom. Hair wrapped around your finger. Hours gone because you had to know what happened after third period. If someone wasn’t home, you left a message on the answering machine and waited. That was communication.

We had pagers. 911 meant “call me now.” 143 meant “I love you.” You learned the codes. You carried quarters. You mastered the pay phone outside Walgreens, the one with the cracked receiver and gum on the side. You memorized numbers. You didn’t have a contact list — you had a brain. If you needed someone, you found them.

So I never could grasp texting.

I try. I really do. But to me, it’s not talking. It’s notes passed in class. It’s all the tone stripped out. No laugh. No sigh. No hearing somebody breathe on the other end when they’re thinking. Just words on a screen, and I’m supposed to know what they mean. Was that period angry? Was “k” dismissive? Was the lack of emoji a sign? I don’t know. I spent my whole life reading voices, not fonts.

I prefer talking on the phone. I want to hear you. I want the pause before you answer. I want the way your voice goes up when you’re lying, down when you’re sad. I want to interrupt you and you interrupt me and we both laugh about it. That’s connection. That’s real.

Young people do things with communication the right way now, I guess. They text “happy birthday” instead of calling. They break up in a paragraph. They send a meme instead of saying “I miss you.” It’s fast. It’s efficient. It’s clean.

But it’s not me.

I’m the girl who had a pen pal in Japan and waited six weeks for a letter. I’m the girl who called the radio station to request a song for a friend. I’m the girl who still thinks if it’s important, you pick up the phone.

Maybe I’m old. Maybe I’m behind. Maybe texting is the right way now — no voicemail, no long goodbyes, no dial tone.

But give me a landline. Give me a pay phone. Give me your voice in my ear at midnight because something happened and you just had to tell me now.

Texting feels like we’re all in the same room but nobody’s looking up.

Talking felt like we were apart but always reaching.

I’ll answer your text. I will. But if you really want me to understand you — call me.

That’s the language I still speak.

*Cathrynmharris