And so the day has come that I am officially old school: the new old-fashioned, that word we flung at our parents with such contempt. How embarrassing when my father would pull out his sometimes monogrammed handkerchief –well, it was a husteczka (hoo-stech’-kuh) to me— to blow his nose in church. (C’mon, dad, can’t you use Kleenex?!) (Even though it did come in handy.)
Flash forward thirty years in my classroom and there I was, not reaching for au courant pocket-sized technology, but pulling out a bulky (but pretty) (and handy) leather planner, leaving my cell phone in my purse. Cell phones are for talking and texting, i.e., communicating; calendars are for planning. Old school.
At least there is a cell phone.
Now If I could only find a pack of pencil tip erasers that aren’t neon.