Something fluid and silvery gray went slithering to the floor where it lay in gleaming folds. Ron gasped."I've heard of those," he said in a hushed voice, dropping the box of Every Flavor Beans he'd gotten from Hermione. "If that's what I think it is--they're really rare, and really valuable."
"What is it?"
Harry picked the shining, silvery cloth off the floor. It was strange to touch, like water woven into material."It's an invisibility cloak," said Ron, a look of awe on his face. "I'm sure it is--try it on." excerpt from Harry Potter and The Sorcerer's Stone
I used to drive my daughters to school. It's an all-girls' school in the city and it takes 45 minutes to an hour to get there. People thought I was crazy. That long of a drive? No boys?
I suppose I am crazy. We live in a school district with a fabulous reputation where the school bus picks the kids up right in front of the house and they arrive at school 5 to ten minutes later. The part about no boys. I have nothing against boys. Not really. My husband is a boy afterall and I like him, a lot.
But the all girls school was the right fit for us at the time. Small class sizes. An analytical rather than a parroting approach to learning. Lots of art classes. Uniforms. All without the distraction of boys. And the drive, well it was the icing on the cake. 60 minutes of time, the three of us together. Connecting. Sometimes, we'd listen to an audio book (we listened to all of the Harry Potter books this way), the sugary stylings of Hilary Duff and Aaron Carter on Radio Disney, or our favorite musicals: Spamalot, Hairspray, Grease. We'd talk about school, the teachers, the way Mr. V. jumped up onto the desks to make some mathmatical exclamation point. The way Sally X wore her kilt all the way up to her armpits. About the lunch ladies, mystery meat and the woman who came to speak about schools in Afghanistan. I would tell them funny stories about work, the strange people I met at a deposition or on the street walking to the court house. Sometimes we drove in delicious silence, as they curled up in the back seat, using their backpacks for pillows, a Steeler's blanket tucked under theirs chins, trying to catch a few more minutes of sleep.
Enter the IPod. One Christmas, Uncle casually handed out the unwrapped apple embossed boxes amidst squeals of delight and a solitary groan. Mine. I wasn't pleased. I had been judiciously monitoring and limiting electronic gizmos their entire lives. Uncle just added one more battle to the war.
These first IPods were primitive compared to the latest models but they were sleek and shiny and could hold "1,000 songs in your pocket".
Fast forward a few years. Daughter #1, we'll call her Artsy, despite having won the race to the front seat, assumes a sullen pose. Daughter #2, we'll call her the All-American is complaining:
"That's not fair! Artsy always gets to sit in the front seat!"
Artsy slouches in her seat, hair in her eyes. She no longer wants to go the all girls' school in the city. Changing alliances, and a desire for meaningful interaction with ... dare I say it? ... boys ... have thrust her into a teenaged insurrection. She wasn't going to like school, no matter what, at least not in front of me.
Exasperated, I start ranting, how I hate starting the day with such negativity. Not hearing a response, I drone on, repeat myself, inevitably bring up something that happened last week, last month, years ago.
The All American has launched into "I'm sorry mode" - anything to stop the screeching mom.
Artsy is unfazed. She is plugged into the IPod. I no longer exist. The school no longer exists, the turncoat friends no longer exist. It's just Artsy and her music. She has retreated into a world of her own making.
"Unplug," I command.
"But Moooooooom, it helps me relax."
"Relax? Why do you need to relax? Your day has just started."
And so it went. Every day, Artsy disappeared a little bit more, sucked into the Podmos, her brain tethered to the shiny metallic gadget spewing Goth Rock, Post Hard Core, Progressive Metal and let's not forget...Screamo.
Fast Forward again. A new year, a new school, new friends. Rapprochement. Harmonious relations between Mom and Artsy have been restored along with a new line of communication. The latest version of the IPod, the IPod Touch, has built-in features for shared listening and a screen for viewing music videos and other stuff.
Both Artsy and the All American share with me their downloads. I am connecting to their Podmos and their Pod Culture.
Didn't see that one coming.
