Category Archives: ponderings

This morning I saw an ad for the Windows Phone, and it disturbed me deeply.

The point of this commercial was that with this new phone, you won’t spend as much time sending text messages. The action in the background showed various people going about everyday tasks, but completely absorbed in texting, to the exclusion of everything else: a wedding, a baseball game, their kids, driving, etc. The message is clear: we need something to rescue us from the horrible burden that is text messaging.

Really?

So, we’re supposed to believe that we are all suffering from this duty that’s been placed upon us, this incessant mission we are all on, this mandate to chronicle our every waking moment to everyone. And it’s grown beyond being a mere necessity, it’s become troublesome. Thus, what we need is a new phone that will somehow make our texting experience more efficient.

I have a better, far less costly idea: turn the #$%*@! thing off!

I know, I know: Get off my lawn.

But really: is it so difficult to go through a day without having that stupid thing constantly yapping at you, demanding your unwavering attention and obligating you to report? Is it no longer expected that we enjoy our present surroundings and the company of those we’re actually with?

Last summer, while at an open-air restaurant enjoying the late afternoon sun and good company, I caught my stepdaughter buried in her cell phone texting a friend, and she made a gripe that she wished the texts would stop coming in, because they were bugging her. I told her she could turn it off. She looked at me like I was out of my mind.

“Why would I do that?” She asked. “What if I needed to get a hold of someone?”

“Like who? And why?” I challenged.

“I don’t know. Don’t you ever need to talk to someone?”

“Everyone I want to talk to, right at this moment, is already here,” I said, ending the subject.

I believe our society is in imminent danger of losing our ability to relate to one another. Lasting, solid relationships cannot be built out of or sustained by 140 character micro-thoughts.

In the movie “Contact,” the character Palmer Joss said: “…We shop at home, we surf the Web, and at the same time we feel emptier, lonelier, and more cut off from each other than at any other time in human history…”

So true. So very true. And, from a movie released in 1997, when the web was still a curiosity, texting was rarely done and twitter didn’t exist.

All this technology we have for keeping tabs on people, for keeping connected with them, is actually doing the opposite. It’s reducing our connectivity to a trivial level.

I don’t think this problem originated with the advent of the cell phone. Somebody probably sneered at the invention of the telegraph citing a similar concern. The television certainly contributed to the problem as well, as did the home video recorder. Remember when the holiday television specials came on TV one day a year, and if you missed it, you missed it? It made it an event. You all had to be there and pay rapt attention. And there wasn’t a pause button so you could run to the bathroom; you had to wait for the Dolly Madison commercial (yes, I am thinking of “A Charlie Brown Christmas”, since you ask).

Same thing with phone calls. I remember, as a boy, several times when we were expecting a long distance call from a relative at a certain time. It was exciting, and we all had to gather around the phone (no, it wasn’t wall mounted and made of oak and cast iron) to get our turn to talk to aunt whomever. The conversation was something to be anticipated, savored, and remembered. Do we have that anymore? Do we anticipate an imminent conversation or savor it at all?

I just can’t help thinking something’s very much lost now, and nobody is giving it much notice.

What really bothers me is what’s waiting around the corner to drag our society’s relational skills (as well as spelling) further down into the abyss. What’s it going to be like when our kids are grown and have kids of their own? Will there be brain implants for immediate, constant thought connection with those in your subscribed friends and family circle?

It’s scary to think.

Myself, I’m going to stick to smoke signals and the occasional use of the Alphorn. And stay off my lawn.

Michael was tired, there was no doubt of that.

After over two hours of play at his favorite vaguely space-themed play facility, he was clearly bored with all of the play structures and bounce houses and other venues of rambunctious physical activity. We could tell, as he was now stalking other children in hopes of drawing some excitement off of whatever their lives had to offer.

One group of kids, a subset of the kids attending a birthday party, was playing keep-away with a balloon. This was an irresitable attraction for Michael, who wormed his way into their group, no doubt hoping his presence would either not be noticed or would be disregarded as merely one of the other many children in the group.

I watched their interaction for a bit, and after becoming satisfied that no ill will was shown either to Michael or from him, I turned back around and continued my conversation with my wife.

A few minutes later Michael came running up to us from the other direction.

He was grinning from ear to ear, and in his hands he held a bright purple balloon. Following closely behind him was another little boy, one of the birthday group. He was calling out something unintelligible.

“Michael, where did you get that balloon?”

“It’s mine!” he said.

“He took my balloon!” The other boy cried.

“Michael, did you take this balloon?”

“But I…” he started.

“It’s my balloon,” the little boy said again.

“Michael, give him back his balloon!”

Michael thrust the balloon at the little boy, brow knitted into a severe frown. He folded his arms and turned back toward me, but not before exclaiming “I hate you!” at the balloon boy.

“Michael, we’re done. Let’s go get your shoes.” I marched him over to the shoe caddy and we retrieved his shoes. As I put them on his feet I told him “Little man, this is not how we make friends. We don’t steal balloons, and we certainly don’t tell people that we’ve stolen things from that we hate them. This is being mean.”

He said nothing.

“Now you’re going to go apologize to that little boy for what you did.” I steered him over to the little boy, who was bouncing his balloon up in the air. His parents noticed what I was doing and asked him to pay attention.

“Go on, Michael.”

Through fresh tears, he blurted out “I’m sorry I took your balloon!” and he darted away.

“You did the right thing, Michael.”

I knew he didn’t want to. I knew he felt horrible about it; though more likely because he’d been caught and forced to give up the prize, and then suffer the indignity of having to abase himself in front of another. Either way, I wanted to be sure he did the right thing in hopes that later on in life it would come naturally.

I continued to instruct and encourage him on our way out of the building.

That’s when we heard the little balloon boy come running up, bright purple balloon in hand.

“Here. This is for you,” he said, and he handed Michael the balloon.

“Thank you!” Michael said, brightening suddenly.

“Thank you, that was very nice,” I told the little boy, who pranced off, beaming.

As we got into the car, Michael said “That little boy gave me the balloon anyway!”

“Yes he did. That was grace, Michael. You didn’t deserve it, but you got it anyway.”

Like God’s grace, His unmerited favor in the midst of our evil toward Him. Not a purple balloon, but everlasting life.