This morning I was halfway to Tallahassee when I realized I’d left my phone at home. I came close to turning the car around and going back to Doright Manor to fetch my little rectangular lifeline, but resisted the urge and continued on into town.
I’m not going to lie; I felt helpless without it—not nearly as helpless as I felt when I lost the phone at Whole Foods last week, but that’s a story of its own.
Then I remembered those days when my daddy drove us from Floydada, Texas, to Los Angeles, California, without a cell phone or a GPS. He did it with maps and a pocketful of change for phone booths along the way. Freaking amazing.
Today’s kids need to remember the bravery of their grandparents and great grandparents who crossed deserts in cars without air conditioning. Monuments should be erected to those brave souls who didn’t have heated seats when driving in blizzard-like conditions across the plains of North Dakota.
And lest we forget, we should all pay homage to those pioneers who continue to physically insert keys into ignitions or manually roll down windows or drive in reverse without the benefit of a backup camera. I’ve done them all and lived to tell about it. Hear me roar!
Those of my generation might never have driven a team of mules through the muck and mud of an unpaved, rut-infested road, but by golly, we’ve had our share of hardships.
Now, I think I need to go back and get that phone.