The very idea of texting your mother…

You tell me if you get this: a student gets up to leave at the end of this morning’s class, and casually turns back to me and says, “Well teetle, I guess! Have a good weekend!”

Teetle?

Do you know what that means?

I didn’t either.

I asked her to repeat it.

“I said ‘teetle.’”

“Do you mean like toodle-loo? Is that what you’re trying to say? As in, See you later, toodle-loo?”

“I would never say that. That sounds dumb.”

There was a lull as we tried to figure out how to communicate what, at first glance, appeared to be nothing but a simple, closing remark as she headed out the door.

“So what are you actually saying to me then?”

“’Teetle’ like you know, T-T-Y-L? Teetle.”

Let’s stop right there for a moment, shall we? I’ve never known anyone to say this in actuality, ever. I’ve never even known anyone to use it in a fashion other than via texting.  I have in a joking conversation heard it used before, but they spelled it out, as in “Well, t-t-y-l, I guess. Have a good weekend,” where they pronounced each letter carefully so as not to shroud the humor implicit in using texting code in passing conversation.

But, to use it as a complete word, and so nonchalantly, as she did…both frightens and fascinates me.

We’re redefining the way we communicate in this culture at an alarming rate.  Case in point, I think I’ve told you this already, but I’m experimenting with some of these new-fangled definitions of communication in my composition classes. I got so frustrated with them constantly texting during my lectures, etc. that I decided to embrace it, instead.

I certainly couldn’t get them to stop without jeopardizing the “learning environment,” per se, so I challenged them to write their first narrative assignment entirely in SMS text code. Far from daunted, they leaped at the opportunity. I’ve never seen a class so focused on a task before. I’ve also never had a class turn in an assignment so quickly and on time before either. I collected their papers and perused them a moment.

It might as well have been Klingon.

I had not one clue what they’d written. I was, however, impressed at how condensed a three-page narrative paper becomes when all we use is text; it reminded me of Nana’s shorthand notebooks from when she was the Church Social Secretary. Somehow, in those strange conglomerations of letters, and very few vowels, they’d, almost hieroglyphically, told me their life stories.

I thought, Think fast, Kris, what do you do now? And was instantly given this idea: pass the papers back out, but randomly, and then have them re-write the paper in Standard English. I mean, we all use texting, pretty much, but we don’t all use the same “codes,” it seems, little of it actually SMS.

That proved to be the real challenge. And one they faced with proper grumbling. They whined and moaned and griped that they couldn’t “understand most of this.”

I pressed further, saying, “OK, then write down what you think they’re saying, or what you think they’re trying to say. We’ll ask afterwards.”

It was a remarkable day, I must admit. They had to actually think through the assignment because one student complained that she didn’t “say it like that” when she texted. Another student said she used several versions of a couple of codes depending on whom she was texting (i.e., her friend a.k.a “BESTY,” or her mother).

The very idea of texting your mother.

No, what it really challenges is language we’re comfortable with. Language that we’ve been taught; this is a generational issue, any way you look at it. Even though I text, myself; I already feel as old as my parents. I imagine it wasn’t much easier when Gutenberg’s and Shakespeare’s “thees” and “thous” were thrown out in favor of the more colloquial “yous” and “yours,” but at least they were still using whole words.

Or, you could pick up an Austen novel. Or Shelley’s Frankenstein. We don’t talk like that, anymore, either.

I also understand the resistance. The uneducatedness of utilizing text in formal writing. If I have to circle one more “ur” and mark it for not being “your,” or “you’re,” which still, as far as I know, represents two different sets of semantics, it’ll be too soon. But, it seems we’re standing on the precipice of a major paradigm in communication, all forms, but especially written communication.

Back in the day, writing a letter took effort, and time. It had to travel, so we prepared each letter with a certain timelessness considering the art of handwriting. These days, there’s no such consideration given. Or, so it seems, though I’d be willing to bet that personalizing an entire system of texting the way “you do it,” as compared to someone outside your circle, is nothing short of a craft in and of itself.

Even if it looks tacky.

Really, texting is just glorified telegramming. And it’s here to stay.

Of course, this could all be a long phenomenon. And nothing else. I suppose when all else fails we still have the ability to actually talk to each other. And to listen…though that’s challenging enough for some. Somehow, today, in my catch-all Opening that begins each of my lessons, I managed to address several broad topics: cell-phone usage while driving and Maria Shriver, the horror film Paranormal Activity, Halloween costumes, and carbon footprints.

I’m not sure if he was joking or not, but it was still funny – I’d just mentioned the term carbon footprint. And a young man asked me to explain what it meant. I said, “I thought surely you would have discussed this in your Chem Lab. I’m no scientist, but surely you know what a carbon footprint is?”

He said, “Well, I don’t know about you, but mine’s a size 12.”

I looked at him a second and then allowed the wash to come over my brain. What other choice did I have?

I looked him straight in the face and said, “LOL.”

Related Posts:

• The Art of the Dirty Word.
• And, for the record, I really like my shower curtain.
• That time I was in a Sartre play: part of a memoir, sort of.
• When I grow up, I want to be a box of crayons.
• He was called Bear because he looked like a bear.

You Might Also Like: