Knock Knock. Who’s there? The Interrupting Sheep. The Interrupting Sh----BAAAA!

That joke is guaranteed to cause all five-year-olds to collapse into fits of laughter—once you explain it to them, of course. And the best part is that there is an endless array of barnyard animals you can use when the sheep lose their appeal. The Interrupting Cow. The Interrupting Horse. The Interrupting Pig. You get the drift.

What really bothers me, however, is not the intrusion of the occasional farmyard occupant, but rather the everyday intrusions of technology. I have never figured out, for instance, why the telephone should take precedence over face-to-face interactions.

Let’s say that I’m relaxing with my husband. We’re chatting, or laughing, or enjoying a movie together, and the phone rings. Why answer it? I am doing exactly what I want to do; I am spending quality time with the man I love. But inevitably that ringing causes us to jump to our feet, endure a momentary panic as we try to ascertain the location of at least one of our three portable phones, and then abandon each other for the urgency of technology. Even if it’s actually a friend or a family member, why should that person rob me of time with my husband? Yet inevitably one of us ends up chatting, and our time together is lost. I figure the measure of true friendship is when you can tell a caller that you don’t want to talk right now because you were busy doing nothing. You’ll get back to them when you’re done.

I once had a university professor who told our class that he never answered the phone. To him, a phone call was like someone interrupting your conversation. Instead, he installed an answering machine, and simply returned the calls he felt warranted his time. In general, he thought life would be better if people went back to writing letters. Then we’d only communicate if we had something pressing to say.

Perhaps he has a point. Over the last decade communication has gotten so much easier. Not only can we phone people; we can text, email, skype, or use internet chat. Just because the quantity of our communication has increased, though, doesn’t mean the quality has. Read the most common text message—WASSUP?—and you quickly realize that while we say a lot, we’re just creating noise. If you had to mount up a horse and then ride for an hour before you could deliver a message, you’d make sure that message was vital. Today, we throw out so many messages because it’s easy. Then we become so addicted to this instant reach-out-and-touch someone that it makes us stupid. Last month nineteen-year-old Jonathan Parker was arrested for burglary in Pennsylvania because after rooting through the victim’s jewelry box, he decided to update his Facebook status. And he left his page open on his victim’s computer.

Now I’m not a technology saint. In fact, despite my abhorrence of being interrupted, I do my own fair share of interrupting others. I’m a Twitter addict. I use Facebook. I wade through hundreds of emails a day. But sometimes, every now and then, I just want to sit on the couch and cuddle with someone I love without hearing the phone ringing, or without having to subdue the overwhelming urge to check if something new is in my inbox.

We live in an interrupting world, and sometimes I wish everybody, altogether, would shut up, just for a little while. Imagine how peaceful that could be.

Labels: columns, computers, time wasters

Labels: computers, organizing, Tackle it Tuesday

When I was younger I loved Christmas because it brought family. I could hardly contain myself waiting for my cousins to drive up our laneway. Having other children to play with, and to sleep over, was the best part of my year. Unfortunately, my grandparents were both a little senile, so we children couldn’t be raucous all day. We had to be calm and subdued over the dinner table, during which my grandfather would recite all the recent plotlines from Matlock, which he thought was actually a documentary. So we children ate silently while we learned how Matlock pulled yet another trick out of his hat.

Later, though, we would play board games, and take hikes, and bake sticky, sweet things. We would choreograph dances and write plays and perform them, forcing our parents to sit through yet another performance with no actual plot and no discernible ending. But they watched, because that’s what family did.

I’m not sure what family does today. Often family times tend to revolve around some sort of screen, or some sort of bottle. Either everyone drinks together, or they watch television together, or they play on the Xbox together. Rarely do we actually do anything together.

We recently watched the movie Dan in Real Life, which is quite cute, and given the slim pickings at video stores these days, may be worth your while. The part of the movie I found so heartwarming, though, wasn’t actually the love story; it was all the activity in the background. It was real life family.

The bulk of the action centres on a family reunion at a rambling old farmhouse. The grandparents, the four adult children with their significant others, and countless grandkids are stuffed in this house, forming a bustling, crowded mass of humanity.

But what's so charming movie is what they do. No televisions or computers are anywhere to be seen. Instead, the family actually does stuff together. Weird stuff, mind you, but they’re laughing together all the while. There’s a contest between the males and the females to see which gender can finish the newspaper crossword. They play charades, touch football, and hide and seek—even the adults. They jump around aerobically first thing in the morning, and produce a talent show. The grandma teaches the younger girls to knit.

I was thinking of the movie this week because for many of us Christmas is that family reunion. It’s the only time of year the extended family is together. And if we spend that time watching television or playing the latest video game, we’re squandering the opportunity to create fun memories where we all just plain silly together.

I once attended a Christmas party at a friend’s house that was enough to snatch all the festive spirit from one forever. The only activities planned seemed to be drinking beer. Everyone was bored silly, even those who were partaking. The fifty or sixty people inside the home didn’t know each other, so natural conversation didn’t flow well. And then, in desperation, I started suggesting games. We played euchre; we played charades; the room came alive. My husband wanted to bury his head in the snow in mortification because I was taking over the party, but that is what I do when I am desperate. And once I took the lead, many others followed, so we could sneak out early.

I think we have forgotten how to have fun. The screen has replaced so much of our lives that we never actually just spend time together laughing and playing. And that’s a shame, because it’s only when we’re doing things together—rather than watching things together—that we can really share our personalities, our hearts, and form closer bonds. The message of Christmas is all about God bridging the gap so that he could have a relationship with us. And whether or not you celebrate that message, surely the idea of Christmas being a relationship-building time resonates with everyone.

So I’m warning my family: this year we are going to play charades, even if it kills us. It’s worth it just to see my brother-in-law try to act out “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind”. Want to join us?

Have a very Merry Christmas!

Labels: Christmas, columns, computers, family fun, playing

Labels: chores, computers, housework, organizing, To Love Honor and Vacuum, Works for Me Wednesdays

Last week the stick was inducted into the Toy Hall of Fame. It met all their criteria for a great toy: it’s been around for a long time, and it inspires unstructured, imaginative play. As columnist Jonah Goldberg commented, perhaps the Mighty Snowball is next.

When I read the story I initially thought it was a ridiculous publicity ploy. But after thinking about it, I changed my mind. Those days of long ago when kids were content to play outside with sticks seem awfully idyllic compared to last week when 15-year-old Brandon Crisp’s body was identified. The Barrie, Ontario boy disappeared after his family, in desperation, confiscated his Xbox. Brandon felt like his life was over, and that became a self-fulfilling prophecy.

The whole tragic episode has made me think about computer games in a new way. I don’t think we parents understand how real the computer world is to our kids. We may think it’s crazy, lazy, and pathetic, but to them it’s their whole life.

That doesn’t mean, though, that we should just put up with it. Crisp’s parents did have to take action, because besides the obvious danger from predators online, there’s a great psychological danger to living solely a technological life. Online, it doesn’t matter if you’re shy, or ugly, or small, you can pretend to be something else. Imagine if you could recreate your whole persona. Wouldn’t you feel powerful? That’s why computer games and the internet can become so addictive.

Ultimately, though, these virtual relationships aren’t grounded in reality. Online friends don’t actually interact with the real us. There’s no accountability. There’s no honesty. There’s no transparency. And thus there’s no real friendship. Of course, teens rarely have face-to-face relationships characterized by honesty, transparency and accountability, either. But that is the goal that we are eventually striving for, and the more children get lost in a virtual world, the harder it will be to form these true relationships later.

But these relationships, as unreal as they are, still fill a void in their lives. Due to safety concerns, we don’t let kids play outside; we keep them corralled inside. And because of our schedules it’s harder to have play dates, so our children spend an inordinate amount of time alone. Many kids, being shuffled back and forth between two sets of parents, don’t even feel like they have a place that’s just theirs. Online, though, they can carve out a corner of their world that is stable. Computer time fills a valuable role.

And that’s why, if we’re going to deny them technology time, we had better have a back-up plan. We can’t expect children to just limit technology time on their own. First of all, people need help to break real addictions, and many of our children are honestly addicted. But we also need to realize the reason why they are addicted: they need interaction, and right now the computer is the easiest way to get it.

So if you want your kids in the real world instead of the virtual one, you’re going to have to engage them yourself. How about planning a family night, when you play games together? Or join the YMCA, and play basketball together or go swimming? Sure the kids may complain, but if you adopt new habits, eventually they’ll come around. Or what about inviting another family over for dinner so your children have the chance for real socializing? For that matter, what about simply eating together as a family and sharing your day?

Our kids are turning online because it’s more enticing than the outside world. Ultimately, though, the virtual world isn’t real. It’s just addicting. And if we’re going to break that addiction, we’re going to have to invest more time into the family. We can’t expect our children to develop healthy leisure habits if we won’t do it with them. They learn by example. So before you switch off that Xbox, switch on something else. Fill that void, and maybe our kids will come back to the real world.

Labels: columns, computers, teens, television

Labels: blogging, computers