Catching myself making face after face into the tiny 2.5 by 5 inch screen, I was disgusted. This is exactly what I didn’t want to happen.

Two weeks ago my parents came into the living room and stood in front of us kids with unreadable faces. Thinking they found out about one of our many mishaps we gathered our resolve and asked them as casually as we could, “What’s up?”

“Well, Daniel, you’ve really excelled in your first year of college, we are proud of you and your advancements in crew as well as in academics. Patrick, you’ve been working really hard in high school, and we hope you keep up the good work. And Maggie… we think it is time you learned to use the technology. We are getting you all smart phones!” My brothers promptly shat themselves. We’d been embracing the life of the flip phone while everyone around us was twittering, instagramming, and facebooking their way to better lives.

I understand the value of a smart phone, especially in the realm of the professional world. One can check their email on the go, get meetings reminders, and navigate to the hotel with minimal work. Seeing as I constantly find myself in the middle of a cornfield looking for the closest pizza hut, at the very least, the GPS was incredibly appealing. But as for email, I have my computer for that. Facetime can be replaced with Skype, and I have an old 60 GB ipod that can carry more music than any phone on the market. What is a smart phone good for?

Walking into the dining hall on campus, I see a group of friends sitting around a table, smiling… at their phones. It’s rare to see a table without someone glued to their phone. Thankfully, my friends have a “no phones at the table” rule, but I’m worried. Worried that smart phones perpetuate a need to be liked. The smartphone is inherently linked to social media. A need to cultivate a perfect, friendable persona, that hides all the flaws and weird tid bits that make us cool people. I got rid of my Facebook when I one day found myself outraged because someone hadn’t friended me. Pissed that I allowed myself to be devalued by virtual, face value acceptance, I quit.

Walking in the woods one day with a friend, he asked, should I bring my phone with me? Yes, safety would normally be a concern, but there was no service. Dude, leave it in the car. Even for photos, the smartphone can’t quite capture the moment’s exact light, or exact exhilaration. I’d rather be reminded by a “remember when” than an endless stream of photos on a feed.

Using my dumb phone was glorious. I used it to set up times to meet people. To communicate face to face. Besides with the inability to communicate sarcasm over text. In person is safer.

I didn’t have to accept the gift of a smartphone form my parents, but even after assessing the risk of no longer being the novel kid with a “dumb phone,” I decided I really did need to learn the technology. For example who is Siri, and why does she have to be such an insufferable know it all. Thus as I hesitantly enter “the 21^st century” as my friends put it, I remain wary of the siren that is the smartphone. I am hoping that I can remain above the narcissism that Snapchat brings out in me, but so far I can’t help but share my hair’s constant likeness to a pineapple with all 10 of my friends.

Out to dinner at the pizza place last night, I came to my decision. All the patrons in the restaurant, aside from those at our table, were on their phones. But we weren’t. I don’t need to have the Facebook app on my phone if I don’t want it there. My phone could just be that, a phone, with email and GPS. I don’t need the other apps on there. The smart phone I realized, is what you want it to be, and nothing more.

Today I have a smart phone. Perhaps I’ll regret it. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow, but soon and for the rest of my life. Here’s to snap chatting you kid.