Growing up in this day and age just isn’t what it used to be —for starters there are far more buttons. I quickly found this out when a ten-year old kid embarrassed me for even being born as he beat me soundly on a new video game being displayed at a local department store. With the score growing exponentially in his favor, I began asking him some probing questions, like: “So, do you get out much?”
I am always amazed at how much time people, specifically teenagers, spend chatting, blogging, playing video games or surfing on the web with friends, strangers and probably Dateline’s Chris Hansen. I guess the act of covering every square inch of a neighbor’s home with toilet paper is considered old fashion. I bet it would be more popular if there was a smart phone application for it.
Technology has not only changed the face of how we do business and interact, but our overall behavior as well. This was recently demonstrated during an opportunity I had of being a chaperone at a youth, spring break getaway that was held in my area; and when I say, “my area,” I am, of course, referring to my home. The situation was pretty simple, really. I volunteered to be the chaperone because the idea of several reckless, teenage kids inconsiderately invading my house during a weekend stay sounded like a great patience building exercise. Let it be known that this was not my idea. A clean freak with obsessive compulsive tendencies does not invite teenage boys to stay at his house for days on end.
When my wife first told me that her younger brother and a few of his friends —and by few, I mean somewhere in the ballpark of his entire senior class— would be coming to stay with us for a few nights, my immediate response was, “Are they bringing their own food?”
In all honesty, I am not opposed to being a gracious and hospitable host to the occasional guest we may have. I just tend to develop a large knot in my stomach at the thought of teenage boys growing stir-crazy in my home without a structured schedule to keep them busy. Nevertheless, I was kindly invited to, and these are my wife’s exact words, “get over it”. Sure it was going to be an inconvenience, but the real issue was my vivid recollection of having been a seemingly invincible teenager at one point in my life. I am well aware of the thought process, or lack thereof, that goes in to choosing a group activity. In fact, having been a teenager myself at one time, I participated in many “team building exercises”, commonly referred to as pranks, mischief or no-goodery. These exercises typically resulted in a strengthened relationship between me, my parents and various law enforcement officials —and those are just the memories I can still recall.
It wasn’t until this large group of guys stayed at my house that I realized technology has taken much of the rambunctious behavior, not to mention the social interaction, out of being a teenager. This was exemplified late Friday night when the thought came to check on the boys and see why they were being so uncharacteristically quiet. It turned out they were all diligently engaged in rapid texting conversations —cleverly referred to as “text-versations”— with, not only friends in other places, but with each other as well. I’m sure this quiet form of communication is appreciated by their parents, at least until the bill comes.
At the end of the weekend, I came to the sobering conclusion that technological advancements, while truly amazing, are quickly making many business practices, means of communication, delinquent activities and certain people completely obsolete. If I have any hope of keeping-up in the world, I had better just “get over it” and embrace the future. However, I will always prefer wiping egg off the door over having computer hackers steal my identity.
As for the house guests, I had no real reason to complain —other than the fact that one of them clogged the toilet, causing it to overflow. But that would have never happened had they turned off their phones and video games and put the toilet paper to its real and intended use —decoration for someone else’s yard.
No comments:
Post a Comment