Amateur Hour

July 26, 2018

Sometimes I get jealous of my parents.

Raising kids in the 70’s and 80’s. I mean we were sent outside to play, for hours, and it didn’t really feel like anyone knew where we were. Or what we were doing. But we were fine. Really. Riding our bikes or playing kick the can, or cards on a neighbors porch. And then someone would ring a dinner bell and we would all go home.

And everyone had chores then. And responsibilities. And you weren’t the terrible horrible no good very bad parent for expecting respect and manners, and some accountability like keeping your room in order. They never had to manage cell phones and ipads and the world wide web. It was all slinky’s and light bright and pac man… at an arcade .… that wasn’t in your home, and you would have to drive to, and more importantly could leave.

Now that arcade is in their little hands, all the time, and it isn’t just one game. It’s thousands. It’s Fortnite. What is there to say… God save us all… Fortnite.

Photo courtesy of the lovely Rachel McGinn,

memory courtesy of my childhood riding about in this.

I walk through my house at times and it is reminiscent of Silent Spring but it isn’t toxins in the environment, it’s the toxins of the glowing rectangular devices in their teen and preteen hands. Until I shut everything down.

I used to read for hours in the summer, on the porch, tucked in the wrought iron chairs until it got dark and the lighting bugs would come out, and then darker and my mom would turn on the porch light, and then darker still and she would coax me inside.

And still the clouds move across the summer sky with the same lightness and effervescence. I don’t want my children to miss the clouds. I don’t want them to miss this world and the song of the cicadas, and the moons glow, the wind soft across their face. I don’t want them to get lost in the translucent hue of a screen. There is too much beauty. And I long for simpler times.

And yet they play outside for hours, and we play cards on warm summer nights and balance out the great divide of technology and human connection. And sometimes technology is what allows and grants that human connection in a way that was never possible when we were kids. Maybe it’s still amateur hour.