No one would ever accuse me of being a particularly ethical person, so when my twelve-year son was lazy enough to leave his Facebook account open on his computer, I had no choice. I had to snoop through his messages.
Since snooping truly is one of the great perks of motherhood, I was rushing with adrenaline to get a peek into my son’s life since he tells me nothing other than “whatever” and “yeah.” But my spying quickly halted when I got to something that looked like HGFGD WFTYKPL BHLT. Not a vowel or a mark of punctuation anywhere in sight.
Now I know that my son goes to one of the best middle schools in town, and they tell me he is gifted and talented. So, one would think that the boy could write polysyllabic words and use fancy things like colons and semi-colons, but his time is too valuable to write in complete sentences. What I call articulation and competent literacy he calls "uncoolness." He tells me all the time that I am lame for sending him text messages with capital letters and periods.
So as I stare at the wall of capital consonants, I would be better off reading Braille or Russian since the extent of texting knowledge is any Prince song from the 1980s and WTF. I soon give up and hope that my child isn’t selling pot out of our basement or making plans to lose his virginity to an $8.00 whore on Colfax. But these are the things that I will never know until a police officer comes knocking on our door because I NST.
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