According to my family I am no longer the “Green Man.” I had no idea to what they were referring. There is a horror novel by Kingsley Amis with the same title, so I wasn’t sure if I was doing something that was scaring them all.

“No,” they said. “You’re texts are no longer green.”

I didn’t realize that my texts were any color, let alone green. Then came the explanation. “Now that you have an iPhone…”

I have always been an android guy. Simple, unassuming, cute name. My last android phone even flipped in half which caused students endless fascination. “You broke your phone, Mr. Silcott!”

But, alas that phone, while not broken, was coming to the end of its cellular life. The battery life was greatly diminished. No matter how hard I tried, my camera lens would not come clean. My phone screen, folded or not, was becoming harder to read.

When my family knew about its upcoming demise, they pestered, they pleaded, they out and out bullied me into coming over to the iPhone world. They were as insistent as the Hare Krishna folks who dressed in orange robes and hung out at the airport soliciting your money. It seems that the iPhone community is a little cultist.

I loved my android. I knew it and it knew me. I knew where to find things and what buttons to push. I never pressed the android universe on others. I just wanted the same consideration from them.

But the nagging never stopped. “Let’s face time Lauren in Texas…oh that’s right you don’t have an iPhone.” They had dozens of reasons why I should come over to their side. I was becoming a victim of elder abuse.

And then one Saturday I drifted into a Verizon store after my expensive and fancy Great Clips haircut. I was the only customer. I had her undivided attention. I told her about my family’s protestations for not remaining the green man. Like a good salesperson she jumped right on board and took out the newest edition of the anti-android. I was sunk. I bought the darn thing as well as an apple watch. I traded in my little folded android and my Samsung watch, said my goodbyes and as a last cruel gesture transferred my information to Apple and robbed my old devices of all their memory, as well as my memories of them.

So far, I can make a call, send and email and send a non-green text. I haven’t got the hang of doing all that swiping that my new phone requires of me. It took me a few days to keep the watch and phone from dinging me with notifications, reminders and sales pitches. While I do appreciate the new battery life, I am still very much intimidated by my new gadgets.

From what I have come to understand my new phone can not only make calls, answer emails and texts and surf the internet but can store my money, take my blood pressure, warn me of a heart attack, and take dictation. For all I know it can drive my car and fly me to Houston to see my grandchildren.

I am sure that if I had been patient with my android, it could have accomplished some of the same things through apps, but I never wanted to ask too much of my little, foldable friend. I was content to have it do the basics and until the end it never let me down.

But my family is thrilled. Now I am convinced that they are going to track my every move and spy on me through the interconnected cyber universe. The other day I was listening to my audio book and my watch started transcribing every word spoken. Will it do the same for my own intimate and private conversations. Fortunately for me, I lead a dull life. I have no state secrets to share with anyone.

The day after I bought my phone, Apple announced that it was coming out with a foldable version. Please tell me, all you, iPhone people, that I won’t need to get the higher version every time they up the ante. I have trouble with change. I may like what my new phone will do for me, but my first love, my android, will always be my greatest.

Jim Silcott