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New age, new punishment: email is the way to go

An opinion | by TAYLOR IRWIN

“Taylor Marie Irwin.”

 Uh-oh, I”m in trouble now. I think it”s pretty safe to assume that every child, teenager and toddler alike, knows to run and hide when mom or dad utters the middle name. A whole world of not-so-great possibilities opens up with just that one addition. But now, as I have grown older, I have a new sound to fear. 

 “You”ve got mail.’

My heart drops into my stomach whenever I see a forwarded email from Michelle Irwin; most of the time titled ‘Taylor Irwin, Progress Report for [insert math class here],’. My brain hurriedly rushes through all recent activities; what was my last quiz grade? When is the next test? Did I turn in all my homework?

Hesitantly, I open the email.

‘This grade is unacceptable, Taylor,’ the email reads. ‘If you don’t talk to your teacher, I will. Consider yourself under surveillance until the next report.” 

The humorous part was that the email was dated three days ago and I haven’t heard a word about it. That’s the funny thing about mother dearest:  she never talks to me about my grades; she just types.  

Our conversations are restricted solely to cyberspace, and usually one-sided at that. Sometimes, I’m even grounded wirelessly.

Take freshmen year, for example, when the whole email system first began for me. Half way into the first semester of Algebra I, my grade began to take a turn for the worst; the beginning of the end if you will. What would soon become ritual, I opened the forwarded email to be greeted with the obtrusive red D+ letter grade with an attached note from my mother.

“This can”t happen, Taylor,” the email read. “This is not a good way to be in your freshmen year, this shapes the rest of high school. You”re grounded until I receive notice that your grade has been improved.”

Ouch, right?

 Now, I want to make something clear; I’ve never been a math person and can pretty much guarantee I have absolutely no future in the mathematics department. All you people out there who actually know more than the first two digits of pie, or is it pi? Yeah, I’m not so sure we’d get along very well. You see, I’m a fan of words which is why  I take part in lovely student organizations like The Dart and not the mathletes. I applaud ( and even envy ) your abilities, but it’s just not me.

So whenever I see a forwarded progress report from my mom, I know it’s not good news.

So while most girls who receive less-than-satisfactory grade reports, grit their teeth as they bear the verbal beating of, ‘This is absolutely unacceptable,’ or ‘We don’t pay X amount of dollars for you to perform like this,’ (that’s about the extent of my algebra in everyday life, might I add) I’m stuck staring at a computer screen which connects me to a person who is not very happy with me. 

Although  I like the continuous updates my mother sends my way, sometimes it’s inefficient in getting her point across. Usually, I don’t see the e-mail until several days after it was sent and my grounding is over-rided because I’m left unaware that I’m currently on lockdown. This is mostly a benefit – until I come home and am informed of my convict status and my jail time has increased. 

Often times I find myself wondering how my mom goes about like nothing is troubling her, when I know in the back of her mind she’s concerned about my ever-changing grades. It just plainly confuses me, when she hands over a $10 bill for some gas when 10 minutes prior  I received an online lashing. It’s like our Ethernet connection brings out a new side in her.

Lately, I”ve come to realize my mom believes in me the way only a mother can; and while she knows I”m working hard in all my classes, she is expressing the need for me to do better in the best way she knows how. By telling me my performance is lacking – her words, not mine – via email, its her way of letting me know I need to do better, without putting me on the spot. She knows I”m capable of more and this is the way she chooses to inform me; while it may be confusing, it is also in a way, endearing.

When I prematurely warned my mom about this piece, revealing to her that her methods would be publicized all over the STA campus, she wasn”t too thrilled.

“Taylor,” whined Michelle Irwin. “Please don”t make me sound like some weird mom. I do it to remind you, not scare you.”

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