Storytime: Rest in peace, Iron Sheik

It begins without warning. Things will be running smoothly and quietly — suddenly, my phone blows up.

My adult children created a family text group so we might better communicate with one another. If they call and I don’t answer, or they text me and I don’t respond, they assume I have been kidnapped or I’ve fallen and I can’t get up. As a result, my phone is set to ring with a call, ping with a message, and vibrate when the sound is turned off.

All I have to do is respond.

I was sitting at a table with a group of women when my phone pinged once, just once. I ignored it. No one noticed and I figured whatever it was, it could wait. Then my text message alert went off again, then again, and again, so I picked up my phone to see what was going on.

Good grief.

When I turned down the volume, that’s when the vibrating kicked in. Pretty soon, my phone was moving and shaking all over the table while I pretended it wasn’t. Finally, one of my friends nodded toward my phone and asked, “Do you need to get that?”

No, no I don’t.

Still, the vibrating continued so I reached to turn my phone off.

“Seriously,” my friend said, “maybe something happened.”

Something happened alright.

Whenever our group text blows up — luckily — it is never what you expect. Typically, family texts are like “Where are you?” or “What’s going on tonight?”

Without warning, though, something will happen to set off a barrage of messages. Along with those come emojis and movie clips and random quotes that leave me shaking my head.

Just like today.

With a dramatic sigh I picked up my phone, which had already racked up 14 messages, and looked at my worried friends.

“This is why my kids blow up my phone.”

With all eyes on me, I read the original message from my son, the one that launched the group text into orbit.

“WWE Legend Iron Sheik died.”

“Who?” someone asked.

So I had to confess about the Friday nights my children sat in front of the TV watching the unconventional world of wrestling. Andre the Giant was king, Hulk Hogan was the hero, and everyone protected Miss Elizabeth. My kids had a love-hate relationship with the Iron Sheik, all while rooting for favorites like Rowdy Roddy Piper, The Undertaker, and Junkyard Dog.

Who doesn’t root for a junkyard dog?

At first, I thought world wrestling was just a show — literally. The whole thing seemed glaringly fake yet my kids never saw it that way. Suddenly, before my very eyes, Taylor was putting Hilary in a four-figure headlock, and my youngest daughter, Mariah, was soaring off the coffee table attempting a flying knee drop.

At the dinner table, these three would discuss the merits of wrestlers with names like King Kong Bundy, Macho Man and Rick Rude.

Now, I am living this again all through a group text.

My children fully embraced the unreality of Friday night wrestling as very real indeed. They began practicing their own moves in the living room, in their bedrooms, and in the kitchen under my feet. They pouted when I wouldn’t pay for WrestleMania, and, every year, they insisted on asking Santa for wrestling T-shirts for Christmas.

Weirdly, that last part hasn’t changed.

I admit the group text is a great tool to get information quickly, and keeps others from knocking down my door to check on my welfare. Then there are those times when I am caught in a three-figure headlock of texts, leaving me wrestling with a gazillion messages full of comments, clips, and randomness.

When that happens, I take a deep breath until the mania is over and normal life resumes again. So, rest in peace, Iron Sheik — perhaps someday I can too.

But I’m in this group text.

You can reach Lorry at lorrysstorys@gmail.com.

This article originally appeared on Columbia Daily Tribune: Storytime: Rest in peace, Iron Sheik