I’m the oldest child in my family, so I tend to bear the brunt of first-child anxiety that every parent experiences. When I was a teenager, my phone had GPS tracking so my parents could always know where I was. (We had the same feature on every phone, which was handy whenever we needed an estimate for how long it’d be before someone came home.)

When I went off to college, the tracker remained. It was mostly only used so my parents could reassure themselves that I was safe without infringing on my life with constant calls and texts. It was a good system, especially in the early days when my parents were dealing with the worst of the bittersweet “my baby isn’t a baby anymore” feelings.

One spring day, my parents checked in on the GPS app and saw that my location was pinged in a small apartment complex a significant distance off-campus. Cue immediate panic from my father, who was convinced that I’d been kidnapped. My mother made him calm down, and they sent a text and continued to check every ten minutes or so.

No reply. They continued to send texts. They tried calling, but no answer. This went on for almost an hour, and by the end of it, my dad was pacing and probably ten seconds away from calling the National Guard.

Finally, I picked up my phone, saw the texts and several missed calls, and excused myself to call back.

Me: “Hello?”

Parents: “WHERE ARE YOU?!”

I explained to them that I was at a friend’s apartment with my church group and we were eating pizza and playing video games. I’d had my phone turned off because that’s just good guest etiquette. My mother then filled me in on the drama, and I’ve teased them about it ever since.

My dad was not exactly the most technologically up-to-date person in the world. Jokes went around his workplace to check for white-out on computer monitors after Dad had to type up reports.

Dad learned the wonders of the Internet and Googling sometime after 2016 when he retired and had time to sit at his own computer and play around.

In 2018, two years after retiring, my dad came into my room.

Dad: *Excited* “Guess what I found!”

Me: *Full of dread* “Um, no idea.”

Dad: “There’s an entire website dedicated to homemade videos that tell you how to do all sorts of things! Anything from gold panning to how to change a tire!”

Me: *Trying hard not to laugh* “Ah, yes, YouTube. Yeah, Dad, that’s been a thing since about 2005.”

For months afterward, I heard Dad (formerly a cabinet maker and landscaper) yelling at videos about how some random person on YouTube was doing a woodworking project wrong or making it harder on themselves when demonstrating how to landscape their yard.

The funny thing was that I had talked about YouTube for years and had even shown Dad funny videos. But discovering it on his own was like he had hunted down a treasure chest.

I’m an American in Japan, and my boyfriend is Japanese. My parents decided to come visit my boyfriend and me for Christmas, and together we plan to go on a short trip. However, my boyfriend and his family don’t speak much English, while my parents don’t speak much Japanese, so my parents decided to study Japanese while my boyfriend studied a little English so they could meet in the middle.

Today, my mom called because she was excited to tell me all she has learned.

Mom: “彼氏は美味しいですか？” “Kareshi ha oishiidesuka?”

That translates to “Is your boyfriend delicious?”

When we laughed, she immediately fixed it and changed 美味しい/oishii (delicious) to 優しい/yasashi (friendly), but we were already all laughing so hard.

I can’t help but feel like the luckiest person in the world because both my boyfriend and my parents love me so much they’re willing to learn foreign languages (and incredibly difficult ones, at that) so that they can communicate with the other half of my life.

This story about the bed bug lady in the hardware store reminded me suddenly of my mom. I’ve written about my mom in this story. She’s the one who had me sleep on a floor when I went to visit, even though I’m a disabled adult. 

My mom returns home from a trip, complete with suitcases and her husband. They went to visit his ex-girlfriend from decades past.

Mom: “You won’t believe this, but [Ex-Girlfriend] has bed bugs in her spare room!”

Me: *Taking a step back* “How do you know?”

Mom: “Well, not everyone has symptoms, but apparently, I’m allergic. I had big welts everywhere. But neither of them knew since they aren’t allergic, I guess.”

Me: “So… um… Did you bring bed bugs home? If not, how did you ensure…?”

Mom: “Oh, don’t worry. We checked into a hotel to get away from the bugs. We bought new suitcases, and I took what clothes I couldn’t throw out to the laundromat.”

I’m unsure the laundromat would be enough, but I set that aside for the moment.

Me: “I’m surprised the hotel let you stay there with possible bed bugs.”

Mom: “Oh, we didn’t tell them. We figured it would be okay to tell them when we left.”

Me: “And what did they say?”

Mom: “I haven’t told them yet.”

Me: “They need to know! Mom!”

Mom: “Well, I figured they would find out before putting anyone new in there because I shoved the old suitcases under the bed.”

Me: “Call them! Right now!”

Mom: “But they will be mad at me.”

Me: “This is bigger than your feelings. Besides, I’m mad at you already. I’ll be more mad if you don’t call right now.”

Mom: “It’s probably too late—”

Me: “I’m so disappointed in you. You were disrespectful and negligent, and you decided to be a coward about that. How would you like it if you had a guest stay with bed bugs and not warn you, and then you and future guests all get bugs, and those friends blame you? Wouldn’t you want to know? Call. Them. Now.”

Mom: “You’re so mean.” *Dials the number*

I didn’t end up getting bed bugs as far as I know; this was a decade ago.

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My family members all live in different states. I live in Pennsylvania, my sister is in Kentucky, and my parents spend most of the year in Florida and come up to Pennsylvania in the summer. Most of our communication with my sister’s kids is over the phone.

My mom is having a very hard time bonding with my four-year-old niece. Since I’m currently my niece’s best friend and we spend hours each night talking on the phone or FaceTime, I decide to tell my mom what initially got [Niece] to warm up to me. (This is partly to get her to bond with my mom and also so I can get some of my evenings back.) 

Me: “Have you ever heard of Funko Pop?”

Mom: “Not really.”

Me: “They’re these stupid little collectible figurines for celebrities or characters from media. I had a few Disney ones just for particular favorite characters like Merida. One day, [Niece] wanted me to show her my apartment, and she saw it. She was really excited, so I got a few more, and now every time she calls, she wants to see my princesses.”

Mom: “And that’s why she started to want to call you?”

Me: “Yeah. I mean, no offense, but a boring adult with nothing that she’s interested in. Get a few, and she’ll like to see them.”

I decide to send my mom two “Encanto” figures, figuring it can be her starter pack, as [Niece] is obsessed with “Encanto”. My mom is beyond excited to try and bond with [Niece].

Tonight, I get my regular call from [Niece], and she asks to see my figures. 

Niece: “Pap showed me that he has princesses, too!”

Me: “Did Nana show you, too?”

Niece: “No!”

Interesting.

As soon as we hang up, I call my parents. 

Mom: “Hey, what’s up?”

Me: “Were you aware that [Niece] was already shown the Encanto figures?”

Mom: “That rat b*****d. He knew that was supposed to be my ticket in!”

She confronted my dad on the phone with me, and we thoroughly ganged up on him. I’m planning to send more Pops down with instructions to hide them so he can’t steal her thunder again as [Niece] already likes my dad.