My son has a cell phone. 

Let me make that clear: my not-quite-twelve-year-old son has a cell phone. My not-quite-twelve-year-old son has a cell phone and a mustache. (Okay, it looks more like dirt on his lip than a mustache so far, but still... it's hair.) My not-quite-twelve-year-old son has a cell phone, a mustache, and is a farmhand. I mean it... on his grandparent's farm, he operates machinery, uses power tools, builds fences, and gets paid. And his birthday is coming up here very soon. Just another sign that he is growing up and I am growing old.

So, this bothers me on many levels. First, what happened to my boy who watched Thomas the Tank Engine twenty times a day? My boy who used to crane his neck up to look at me with awe?

Second, those of you who know me were probably as surprised as I was to find that I enjoy (and am any good at) fatherhood. And most people who knew me long ago probably put me in the category of "people who shouldn't breed". Honestly, I was the kind of kid everyone knew in high school. That weird kid who was prone to saying things that just made you scratch your head and say, "Is there something wrong with you?" The kid who constantly knocked things over and had no social graces. The kid who was just a little too interested in things like swords and hung out in the back of the art room doing paintings of scenes out of the Spanish Inquisition. Honestly, one of my art teachers in high school saw a painting I was working on of The Crucifixion, and he said to me, "Um... people are worried enough about you as it is." I'm happy, and more than a little surprised, that my son is so normal. Relatively speaking.

Third, the kid just can't let go of his phone. Seriously, he was walking around church this morning just listening to his ring tones and showing his new gadget to everyone who walked by him in the meeting hall. He particularly wanted his friend ( a young lady, by the way) to be impressed by his new gadget.

But the problem, of course, is not with him. I keep telling him how proud I am of the man he is becoming. The problem, of course, is me. The older he gets, the older I feel. I am not that old, but I haven't accomplished the things in life I told myself I would by now. (Where is my book deal? Where is my professorship at a prestigious university? Where is my mansion and a yacht?)

I never thought that this was my lot in life. But you know, it's good. I've got a wonderful wife, a job that I like well enough until I can get into grad school, a house that will do for now, and a son who looks like he will be a strong and brilliant man.

But man, I still feel old.

So, it's my own stinking fault, but I might well have gotten a virus or a keylogger on one of my machines. I opened an e-mail from a person I trusted and, stupidly, clicked on a link. I knew perfectly well not to do that, but I did it anyway.

So, first of all, I hate spammers, hostile hackers, conmen, slimeballs, liars, cheats, and others of that ilk. I've never understood why some people have such black souls, but as far as I'm concerned all of these people can go screw off. I'm a pacifist (more or less) so I don't advocate hurting any of these people. But could we round them up and send them to some island where they hunt each other for sport? After all, if they hurt each other (thus saving me the effort), I'm not really morally responsible. Right?

But more than that, I hate myself. I mean, clicking on a link in an e-mail? That is a rookie mistake, and I am so totally beyond that. So why did I click on it? I don't know. I think of myself as a smart man, and maybe this happened to take me down a peg or two.

But while I was stewing, gnashing my teeth, and deciding that I was going to smash all of my technology like a good Luddite and move to the Outback where I never have to deal with another human being ever, my wife managed to stay calm and relaxed. (At least outwardly.) My father (a professor of computer science who deals with network architecture and computer security) took time out of his Saturday and walked me through everything I needed to do in order to protect myself, despite the fact that he has to deal with some personal issues of his own (and he did it over the phone, which is something he hates to do). My bank was easy to deal with; the branch manager was quick, efficient, and helpful. One of my friends replied to my "Sorry if you get spam from me" e-mail with humor and kindness, really easing my rage. And even the credit card companies were easy to deal with.

So, as I was ready to just write off all of humanity (for the twentieth time this week), I was given the kind of support and kindness from others that really helped. And in the case of the credit card companies and the bank, well... they don't know me from Adam. They didn't have to be half as nice as they were to me.

The bottom line is this: sometimes support and kindness comes from the most unexpected places. That's not a huge revelation, I know. Nor is it anything that should come as a shock to me. But it did. 

However, if you were expecting something out of me today (um... like comments on your writing...), I'm sorry. It won't be happening any time today.