My friend Amy (there are a lot of us) posted this on her Facebook page yesterday:
Saw a man with his 3 or 4 year old son on a merry-go-round today. Not once during whole ride (including the waiting in line) did he look up from his BlackBerry. He missed the whole experience. Pitiful.
I saw this while drinking my morning coffee, and clucked my tongue with superiority. What a clown! How sad his kid must have been.
Then David and I hustled the two boys in the car and off we went for a day trip to a water park, about 45 minutes away. Once we got there, we sat in the front seats whipping off just one more email on our respective personal devices while the boys wheedled, “Let’s go! Please can we just GO!”
As we went to get out of the car, David stopped me. “Can we bring these in?” he said.
“I don’t know,” I said. I did know, of course; I just didn’t want to say it.
We stared at each other, both of us unwilling to go first. Slowly, gingerly, we both extricated our smart phones from our grasps and left them behind in the glove compartment.
Now seems like a good time to mention that everyone else east of the Mississippi also went to Splish Splash yesterday. (In fact, I’m sure I saw you on the Giant Twister.) Our day was spent standing in line, 30 to 40 minutes at a time, for a ride down that would last 30 to 40 seconds.
Like a phantom limb, I kept reaching for my iPhone as the line inched along. If I had had it, I would have been tweeting and checking Facebook, letting the boys do an Ocarina concert, checking email, drawing mustaches on baby photos, you name it. We would have been so productive standing in those lines. We would also have ignored one another completely.
Instead, thanks to being in a super-soaker environment, we had nothing to do but stand there and talk to each other. And so that’s what we did.
Thank you, Splish Splash. Thank you, hordes of flume riders. Thanks to you, it was hot. And it was boring. And it was wonderful.