When I was 9, we packed up our home in Los Angeles and arrived at Heathrow, London on a gray January morning. Everyone in the family settled quickly into the city except me. Without my beloved beaches and endless blue-sky days, I felt at a loss and out of place. Until I made a discovery.

Southbank, at an eastern bend in the Thames, is the center of British skateboarding, where the continuous crashing of skateboards left your head ringing. I loved it. I soon made friends with the local skaters. We spoke our own language. And my favorite: Safe. Safe meant cool. It meant hello. It meant don’t worry about it. Once, when trying a certain trick on the beam (横杆), I fell onto the stones, damaging a nerve in my hand, and Toby came over, helping me up: Safe, man. Safe. A few minutes later, when I landed the trick, my friends beat their boards loud, shouting: “Safe! Safe! Safe!” And that’s what mattered — landing tricks, being a good skater.

When I was 15, my family moved to Washington. I tried skateboarding there, but the locals were far less welcoming. Within a couple of years, I’d given it up.

When I returned to London in 2004, I found myself wandering down to Southbank, spending hours there. I’ve traveled back several times since, most recently this past spring. The day was cold but clear; tourists and Londoners stopped to watch the skaters. Weaving (穿梭) among the kids who rushed by on their boards, I found my way to the beam. Then a rail-thin teenager, in a baggy white T-shirt, skidded (滑) up to the beam. He sat next to me. He seemed not to notice the man next to him. But soon I caught a few of his glances. “I was a local here 20 years ago,” I told him. Then, slowly, he began to nod his head. “Safe, man. Safe.”

”Yeah,” I said. “Safe.”

A couple of months before I started high school, my parents gave me the greatest gift any teenage boy could ask for: a cellphone. I lived on that phone all summer with my face buried in its screen. I ignored my family and my surroundings. Being connected was more important than being present.

So, you can imagine my displeasure when I learned what my dad had planned for our family vacation that year. “This year,” my dad said, “we’ll be doing something special. We’re going camping!” His excitement was met with a disappointed sigh. It wasn’t my dream vacation because mind was on my phone. I was so buried in the screen, in fact, that the first time I can remember truly looking up was when we drove across a bridge on the way to our campsite.

I stared out the window and saw redwoods towering above us, their branches threatening to pierce (刺破) the blue sky. I saw a roaring river, with slivers of silky black water appearing between crashing white rapids. The air blowing into the car from the open windows was hot. But none of that mattered to me. The reason I had looked up was for something far more serious: my phone no longer had service.

The last hour of the drive was increasingly tense. My dad announced that he had chosen a campsite that had no cell service, and that my phone would be useless until we returned home. I would be trapped in the forest for four days with no way to contact the outside world! I went through the full cycle of teenage emotions during the first day of the trip. I raged. I bargained. I begged. I flip-flopped (转变) from a depressive state to anger and back.

I went to bed angrily that night. But when I awoke in the morning, something had changed.

The author, a ______ boy, shared a four-day family vacation in which he was separated from his cellphone.

Clark, a rising fifth-grader who is Filipino-American, told HuffPost he's been dreaming about breaking Phelps' record ever since he started swimming competitively at age 7."I was so motivated,"Clark said about his win."I was so happy that I was able to beat that record.”

Phelps competed in his first Olympics at age 15. He went on to become the most decorated Olympian in history, with 28 medals overall. “Everyone in the crowd was excited when they realized what a special swim they had just seen when we announced the long-standing record had been broken,"Cindy Rowland,Pacific Swimming's director, wrote in an email.