Hello, little man. I’ve sure heard a great deal about you. See, your old man and I were pretty close. And I’ve got something to give to you.
In my hands is a cellular telephone that was first purchased by your grandfather Charlie back in twenty ought two. It was bought at a store known as “Circuit City” and was manufactured by Motorola, one of the first companies to ever make mobile devices. Up until then, people only talked on the phone when they were at home. If they were out of the house, they just didn’t pick up.
Charlie had been told that cell phones were the way of the future, but your grandfather never really used it apart from the occasional game of Snake. There were still payphones and landlines, you see. The most utility he got out of it was as an accessory, clipping it onto the front of his belt.
Realizing that it was useless in his own hands, he offered the phone to his son, your uncle, Dakota. The day before Dakota went off to Oberlin, Charlie gave him his old phone for emergencies only. The old guy didn’t want to waste any of their family plan minutes.
That soon changed once Dakota started texting throughout freshman year. And, mind you, this was before T9 was invented. The kid texted so much that the paint on the buttons started to chip. They’re still worn down today, as you can see.
He nearly lost your grandfather's phone at a sophomore year foam party. Thankfully Dakota preemptively put it in a plastic bag and the vibrate mode was so loud that he could find it by dialing his own number and listening carefully as he combed the party the next morning.
Your uncle, however, was a man with little appreciation for the past. Soon he would opt out of his contract and latch onto one of those newly invented Apple devices. This meant that he, in turn, handed down the family phone to his little brother, Morgan. Your father.
Your Daddy used this phone all throughout college, which is where I met him. Even after graduating and watching as the flip became outdated, Morgan adored that phone and held onto it. Sure, everyone he came across mocked him, but he didn’t want to be distracted by data plans or backing up to the Cloud or whether or not to switch over to a Droid. It was a simple phone from a simpler time.
This phone was in your Daddy’s front pocket when he walked into the Verizon store to re-up his contract. Turns out that ol’ Morgan had twelve upgrades waiting for him. He could walk out of that store with a brand new, 5G smart phone for absolutely nothing. Free of charge. But he wasn’t about to trade in his family heirloom for one of these new finagled “phablets.”
Two years later, he returned to purchase a new lithium battery and the salesguy told him that it would actually cost $3 less a month if he got a smart phone. That’s when Morgan realized that they had him trapped. Your father knew if the guys at the Verizon store ever saw the phone again, it would be confiscated and replaced with a newer model.
It couldn't stream video or connect to the net, but as far as your father was concerned this flip phone was your birthright and he wasn't going to let any Verizon employee put his greasy hands on it and replace it with a Bluetooth compatible iPhone with built-in GPS. So he hid it in the one place no one would look: up his ass. He was able to escape that Verizon hellhole and keep the family artifact.
One night, your old man and I were driving home from a Mumford and Sons concert. He got lost because he forgot to print out directions and wasn't sure which on-ramp to use. And then, as he was talking to your mother on the phone while steering at the same time, we crashed. The car was wrecked. Only one of us could make it out alive.
So before I left him, he entrusted me with his phone. And to protect it from any upgrades that your father was still eligible for, I hid this uncomfortable hunk of plastic up my ass for three years.
And now, little man, I give your grandfather's Motorola Razr to you.
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