7-11, Not Cell Phones (Sydney Salter)

On Saturday while swimming laps at my local pool, I watched the teenager swimming next to me get out of the pool several times to check her phone. Communicating was so different when I was that age.

Friday and Saturday nights we would swing by the 7-11 across the street from Reno High School to see what was happening--and where. 

Sometimes there was a bonfire in the hills. Sometimes there was a house party, often at a naive underclassman's house whose parents were out of town. Most of the time there wasn't much happening at all. 

So we'd sit in the car and talk. About everything. And nothing.

There are certain songs by the Thompson Twins, Depeche Mode, and Frankie Goes To Hollywood that put me right in that 7-11 parking lot in my friend's orange VW bug.  My grocery store loves playing 80s music so I'm often transported back to my teen years while choosing produce. The other day I couldn't stop myself from whisper-singing to the Human League as I guided my cart through the store.

We had other places, too. I remember long talks on the pier at King's Beach up at Tahoe. Eating breakfast at 2AM at the Peppermill Casino on those nights when we all pretended to be sleeping over at each other's houses so we could stay out all night. Our parents lacked the ability to track our whereabouts.  

I feel bad for teens whose most important location exists on their phones, teens who can't sneak off and test out their independence. Their parents track them constantly. Of course bad things happened sometimes. Bad things still happen sometimes. That's the heartbreaking part of life.

I am grateful that I grew up in the ride your bikes around the neighborhood and "be home before dinner" era and the go hang out with your friends and "be home at midnight" era. Other than those deadlines we had heaps of freedom that allowed us to grow and experiment and turn into adults. Thank you, 7-11.