Our Poor Children. . .

As I write this, I am 38.  I dated in high school.  I took the car on Friday nights, and I did what I liked.  I had a curfew, further reinforced but the fact that I had to work Saturday morning at 530 AM.  Just the same, I spent time out.  I did things that I shouldn't have.  I explored.  I adventured.  I misled my parents.  I was a kid.  And the key to it all, there was only one way to get caught.  My mom or dad had to catch me.  They had to get in a car, and track me down.  If I came home late, I could argue that I misunderstood the curfew time before I left.  If I said I was going to the movies, but decided to park instead, who would know?  Not anymore.  When my children begin dating, they will presumably have a cell phone. With a cell phone, I can call them at any point.  If I call them, I will expect a response.  Not a text, not an email.  I will expect my phone call will be answered.  I expect to speak to whatever friend they are supposed to be with.  The technology will be so effective that I will be able to pinpoint the location of the phone my child is talking to me on down to the house on the block.  I can look up who lives in the house.  I can check to see if that person is hosting a party (via social media outlets, because who wouldn't publicize a party).  With modern technology, I can track the speed, driving habits, and location via an app.  WIth social media, my children will be encouraged to share their private lives with all their friends, unwittingly tipping me off to things they may not want me to know.  And truly, some of it may be things I didn't want to know, either.  Life was a lot different when I was a kid.  For better or worse, the world has changed.