Going ‘cold turkey’ in a plugged-in world
My family is living proof that we are living in an electronic
dependent age.
Taking a weekend drive to Monterey has always been a favorite
thing for our family. Each of us has our own reasons. The Husband
loves the wharf and all things shell fish, I love a certain little
silver shop that has bling by the yard, The Girl loves the clothing
shops and The Boy
…well, we only recently found out what he loves.
Going ‘cold turkey’ in a plugged-in world
My family is living proof that we are living in an electronic dependent age.
Taking a weekend drive to Monterey has always been a favorite thing for our family. Each of us has our own reasons. The Husband loves the wharf and all things shell fish, I love a certain little silver shop that has bling by the yard, The Girl loves the clothing shops and The Boy…well, we only recently found out what he loves.
It has always been a fun way to reconnect, and have time together that can’t be had during the week.
Not even out of Gilroy city limits on a very warm Saturday and I can hear The Boy rummaging around for something in the back seat.
“Mom, do you have my Game Boy?” He’d gotten used to me hauling it around in my purse for the infamous field hockey tournaments for something to do, along with six other tiny game cartridges that always seemed to get lost, floating around in there.
I turned around in my seat to face him. “No, I don’t. And besides, you don’t need it. We should be interacting with each other, not having our noses stuck to video game screens.” I was feeling very maternal that day – imparting wisdom that sounded so good coming from someone else, I thought I’d try it, too.
The Husband smiled at that. “Yeah, your sister’s right there. Why don’t you talk to her?” he asked The Boy in the rearview mirror and then grinned at me.
I could feel The Girl rolling her eyes, bracing herself for 45 minutes of explanation on why Game Boy Advance is better than the original. She was astonishingly without her trusty MP-3 player for the road. I was sure she was regretting that choice, now.
The Boy was quiet for a second. “Okay. (pause) Katie, do you have my Game Boy?”
And so it goes.
The Boy is eight years old. I thought back to when I was eight. Granted, I was a girl and in the ’70s, no less, so there was never a thought that I would ever sit in the back seat of the car, playing with a tiny game console. The smallest thing we had was Atari. And that was attached to our big RCA with the wood cabinet, sans remote and one tuner channel dial that had broken off. We had to fight Mom to get our turn, using the controllers to play against the “computer” in an amazing, life-like version of tennis, called “Pong.”
But on a day like this one, being eight years old again would have been a great thing. I could be riding my bike or playing with my best friend down the street at her house. Her mom made chicken hot dogs in their new microwave, which I found revolting, but she served them to us with such a big smile, I had no choice but to say thank you, and eat most of it, after I’d drenched it in mustard and ketchup.
I turned around to see The Boy, alternately reading the new book he’d begged his father for and giggling at something he and his sister were talking about.
I wondered if what it took to get him away from the electronic age was to get him in the car for a day trip. But the cost of gas might keep him there.
As usual, Monterey didn’t disappoint. The weather was blissfully cooler than Gilroy’s, if not a little chilly in the early evening. All thoughts of Game Boys, MP-3 players and Atari were banished as we walked along the wharf and bought salt-water taffy.
In all fairness, I thought that if The Boy had to do without his crutch, then a certain little silver shop would have to do without me. If he could do it, I could do it, too.
