ill communication

My Ocean beeped at me, announcing the arrival of a text message from my younger son, Nolan.

I opened it up and read, “mom will b gon ur goin 2 din thing rite but 5 is fine then k.”

I turned the phone around in my hands, and wondered if maybe I some packets had been dropped during transmission. This cryptic message had been sent in response to my message, “I need to pick you up at five so I can make it to my dinner on time, okay?”

I looked at the phone’s display again, and headed to the cryptography section of my bookshelf. Maybe he’d been captured by ninjas or something, and was sending me a coded message!

While I looked, another message arrived. “wen u get me can u tak me and danny 2 john house 2 do hw plz 4 skool”

"Jesus Christ," I thought, this is serious. "I’d better crack this code before he gets hurt!"

Several frustrating minutes later, I gave up, and just called him.

“Nolan,” I said, “is everything alright? You’re texting in tongues.”

He laughed. “Yes, I’m fine. Did you really not understand me?”

“I never understand you damn kids today, but . . . yeah. You have to remember that --”

“That you’re old. Okay, I get it. Can you take us to Danny’s after you pick me up, so I can do my homework?”

“Why didn’t you just say that?” I said.

“Wil.” He said, patiently. “I did."