Nomophobia - the fear of having our phones taken from us - is taking over our lives. The smart devices are in our homes, carried room-to-room as if glued to the hands of our family members. They meander into the bathroom, the laundry room, the shop, the garage, backyard and even into the bedroom where the adults once had their "alone time." Our teenage children require them to either be under their pillows, by their pillows or within arm's reach at a nightstand in order to even sleep at night. The cell phone must be visible for them to take tests at school without withdrawal anxiety. The phones travel where we do - school, the office, the gym, so that we are in constant contact with the virtual world - other people who also have no real lives outside of their phone. They are ringing in churches, movie theaters, restaurants, concerts, funerals. Nothing says "goodbye" to the recently departed like your ring tone from Metallica's Hardwired. Welcome to the world of smart phone addiction.

"Prince Patrick" was a nick name given to me as a child by my family and parent's friends that reflected my attitude and desire to be treated in a manner befitting a little prince. A sign of endearment to humor my natural, idiosyncratic demeanor. I actually never thought of myself as royalty, rather, that I was "special," destined for greatness or to be famous, and should be treated as an incubating celebrity. But just how was I going to become a figure in history? A doctor or scientist that discovered a cure to a hideous disease or condition? An actor/artist that was going to define my generation? Or would I become infamous? Whereas, my innocent "hijinks" would lead to other more serious acts that would get me recognized for the wrong reasons. These stories of my eccentric exploits, told time and time again at family gatherings, have made both family and friends smile, giggle and laugh hysterically, with the words "no he did not" uttered more than once.