My generation grew up with a famine of information. Our high school years were monitored by foreign gatekeepers. The photos we posted were screened, edited, and censored. Landlines came back. AM radio became our streaming service. Letters were the only reliable form of uncensored information. And for a frightening five years it seemed as though the US would become nothing more than a newly acquired Chinese province. Thank god our hackers fought the broadband wars, destroyed satellites, code-cracked the Chinese-bought senators, and wrestled back control of the government to finally impeach our thought-corrupted president. And once my generation had control, we built the new towers.

Yes, maybe the birds are dying and my sleep is haunted, but America will never be controlled again. No spectrum-throttling, no paid pre-authorization, no thousand-dollar VPN server access, but non-localized broadband consciousness and full-spectrum connectivity available to everyone. That’s what true democracy looks like: access at all times, no one denied or able to turn off anyone else’s screens, the internet as free and open as unsettled territory.

This is the one-sided argument I have on the drive to my parents’ place. It’s been a long time since I’ve talked to them. The last conversation we had was an ugly thought-battle between my father and me about the Towers. Still, I reached out last month, because I can’t stand being a hypocrite, and like I advise others: You have to give your parents the chance to apologize.

“I’ve been trying to reach you for over a year,” my dad said when I thought-messaged him.

“Well, you’re seeing me now.” I watched him grimace in my mind’s eye.

“Come have dinner with us. We need to talk.”

“Can’t we just think-chat and eat dinner separately the normal way? For real, it’s a long drive to you guys.”

“It’s an hour. Come to dinner, Mom really needs to see you.”

So I gave in, even though driving makes my eyes heavy. It’s a boring ride. All of the Midwest looks the same. We lost Nebraska to the droughts, then Iowa, then Kansas, then Missouri. Last summer left Michigan as barren as Colorado. Now all we have are canyons where the Great Lakes once were, dusty brown lawns, and swaths of cracking cornfield. At least the winter lets the dust settle and turns the air sharp and crisp, reminding me of what good air is supposed to taste like.