As a teenager in high school, one of my greatest fears was my mom tracking me—not necessarily because I was doing anything bad or going anywhere I wasn’t supposed to, but solely because that fit into the stereotype of the overprotective mom. No one wanted a “Big Brother,” whomever it may be, tracking their every move and location.
Rumor had it James’s mom put a tracker in his phone—his razor cell phone, and that was weird. James’s mom was weird.
Fast forward 10 years, and I check “Find My Friends” like it’s social media.