I got my first cell phone when I was nearly thirty years old. It was a piece of technology about the size of a candy bar, which I used only to make phone calls. A couple years later I also began using my phone for sending text messages — a laborious process requiring me to press the number key correlating with my desired letter (for example, to say “hi.” I’d press the number four twice for “h” to appear, then three more times for the letter “i”).
As a school administrator, I have to stay up to date on the latest and not so greatest in the teen world. This includes music, movies, lingo, and phone apps. This allows me to be aware of the dangers facing our students, as well as to keep parents informed of what is going on in the teen world.
Hello friends! For several months, I have been in this endless and frustrating cycle of deleting and reinstalling Instagram. I can easily defer from Twitter and Facebook, but there is a weird grip that Instagram has on me. It has taken some time to identify the root of my personal Instagram bondage; the root is my selfish desire to be known.