Six years ago, Steve Jobs stood before a crowd of
shareholders, and really the entire world and introduced the next “big thing" –
the iPad. I was skeptical.
One of his big highlights was the ability to download books.
As a writer, I’m still in love with the feel of paper and biding in my hands. I
love folding over a paperback to hold in one hand, or shoving one in
the pocket of my cargo shorts on vacation. In my 30-something brain, I saw eBooks
as the end of the civilized world.
Admittedly now that I’ve had a couple books in the marketplace
and sold a fair share of digital copies, I’m less resistant. Funny how that
works. Still, I’ve tried to limit my use of iPads and tablets. I have sausage
fingers so I prefer an old-school keyboard. And being in my 40’s now, I have to
admit reading on a screen isn’t’ always the most comfortable experience. Its
bad enough I have to stare at one for every single one of my jobs.
However, all of my children discovered tablets at an early
age. I don’t even know how it happened. They’d see one at a friend’s house –
maybe a Leap Pad or some other form of educational toy device. Then it became
the inevitable “can I play a game on your phone?” To which you think “well if
it will keep them in their seat long enough for us to eat, sure.”
Now each of my children has their own tablet. My son has an iPad,
and my daughters both have Samsung tablets (with matching pink cases and their
names on the back.) They are at once the
bane of my existence (the tablets, not the kids) and often times my savior as I
try to get dinner made for the three of them, or change out of my work clothes (I
can only handle so many hours in business
casual before my head explodes.) Quite frankly sometimes I’m just tired and
want to sit down and not play baseball or lacrosse or push someone on the swing
set.
So yes, call me a bad parent. I sometimes allow more tablet
time than I should because it makes for a good babysitter. I know, that’s
probably the thing you wouldn’t want to admit in a proper parenting blog, but I’m
pretty sure I’m not the only one guilty of it.
I know they should be outside getting fresh air and exercise,
especially now that it’s spring. If they have to be inside, they should be reading
(kryptonite to my son – don’t get me started) or playing some kind of game. Something
that requires them to think and be creative.
But then I remember that when I was a kid, I had a screen for
a babysitter too. You see my folks split when I was 5. I was primarily raised
by a big wooden floor television with the silver knobs that “clunk-clunk-clunked”
when you changed the channel. The only exercise I got was walking from the
couch to the TV to change it. Kids today wouldn’t believe the inhumanity.
While I’m not defending such an upbringing, it was what it
was. My mom was working her butt off to raise two boys in-between the occasional
support check. On her day off, you know, the day she had to do laundry and
clean, she would drop my brother and me off at the movie theater with a $20. We’d
stay there pretty much all day, hopping from movie to movie. Truth be told, from
age 5 to 18, I spent a huge chuck of my free time staring at screens,
absorbing other peoples’ creativity.
While it did not create in me an athlete (or even someone
with abs) it actually did fuel the creative side of my brain. Hence, two books
in the market, full-time and freelance jobs in creative fields, and I’m kickass
at trivia!
Maybe that’s why at some point last night, or maybe early
this morning (I was too tired to lift my phone and look) I heard rustling
in my daughters’ room which is right next to ours. I could hear the muffled but
all too familiar sounds of YouTube. Even
my sleepy, two-cycled weed whacker engine of a brain figured out quickly that
my older daughter, Maya, had woken up, grabbed her tablet, and was in bed watching
videos and playing her dress-up games. My brain told me I should get up, go
yank it out of her hands and order her back to sleep.
But I didn’t.
I could tell you because I was still half-asleep and just
too exhausted to move. And that is definitely part of it. But the truth; she’s
my creative one. Her brother is a jock (don’t know where he got it) and her
little sister, well, we’re still not sure. Maya is my artist. She paints, she
draws, and she dances. As I often say, she is all my child. I see so much of
myself in her, good and bad, that it terrifies me. Yet it also created a
special bond in us. As much as she is responsible for 80% of my gray hairs, she
is my girl, 110%.
I know how much she loves those silly videos of people
opening weird plastic eggs with toys inside, or singing “Mommy Finger”, or
creating crafts. As much as I should have, I could not take it away from her.
How do I know where she will go with that information one day? Sometimes you
just don’t want to sleep, so why not let her download some more brain food,
even if some of it is just candy?
