I read the recent Valley News report about phone-free schools with great interest. Even though I am a longtime admirer of pulp paper, which is easier on the eyes, I read the article on my phone.
It seemed oddly fitting.
In my heart, I prefer paper. One thing leads to another on phones, but newsprint content has a beginning and an end. If I want to read more after I reach the back page, likely because I am not ready to take on the world, I can circle back and study the daily horoscope.
Good news is coming from an unexpected source, it says. Yeah, sure. I’m going to win the Nigerian lottery.
And then there is the Dear Annie column. There are tales of cheating husbands, long-suffering wives, sons who should move out of the basement, grown-up daughters who keep a sloppy house.
As far as I know, my wife hasn’t yet written to Annie. My faults are all bearable.
Annie covers problems I contemplate without pain and anguish, unlike national affairs, which have grown so dismal that I always feel worse after taking them on. “Throw the bum out!” is often the correct answer for Dear Annie dilemmas, although she is gentle with her advice to Worn Out in Walla Walla or Sleepless in Sheboygan. Talk to a therapist, she advises, ever hopeful.
“Throw the bum out!” could also be a simple answer to our national crisis of confidence, truth, humanity, swollen ankles and severe memory lapses about old buddies who abused young girls.
Forget about all that, we’re told. Let’s invade Chicago!
But back to online life. The phone is a portal to all things great and wacky. It is essential. It is also a time suck. You can learn so many things, but so much is about celebrities, the Skittles in a wondrous feast of knowledge.
Choose one: William Shakespeare – or Sydney Sweeney. She is the bosomy young actress who keeps popping up in the news, such as it is. Among teens, the Bard “hast nay chance”! (Credit to the online Shakespearean language generator.)
The cellphone ban in New Hampshire schools has my support, not that it needs it. After I retired from the Valley News I worked part-time in a high school library for five years. I was stunned (well, not stunned but kinda sorta) at how attached students were to their phones.
It was a busy library. At the start of some periods, a crowd burst through the doors. Many were doing the zombie phone walk, eyes on phone, dominant hand swiping with each step. There was a frantic quality to it, like watching the pecking of hungry chickens.
I recall seeing five freshmen staring at five phones around a cafeteria table. This wasn’t a promising sign for future social life.
A couple teachers told me they were discouraged by how strongly students were drawn to their phones. They were sneaking peeks during French class, or during a discussion of The Great Gatsby. One teacher said trying to control it was like playing whack-a-mole.
But one day I noticed a bunch of teens holding their phones close, and sharing funny things they were reading. They were adapting faster than us tired Boomers.
As for myself, I find that too much online scrolling drains my brain. I don’t do TikTok or Instagram, but even Facebook can wear me out. To be fair, getting regular videos and photos of our 2-year-old granddaughter is a delight. She conquers my inner crab.
Still, If I want to think creatively, I need to put down the phone. And not pick it up again. (Now where did I put it?)
I’ve been in the thinking and typing game long enough to know that you have to give your brain a rest. Stare out the window for a couple of minutes and thoughts may come. Or take a short walk and look at flowers and clouds.
Even a humble essay such as this one takes concentration. I can’t be corralling words and thinking about the “Phillies Karen” who screamed to get a baseball (you can look it up); why Germany lost World War I; five keys to a happy life; vaccines; anything about Trump; updates on the Red Sox; the all-new Department of War; and tomorrow’s weather, which I look up seven times a day since I can check it again and again and again.
All those things and more are at my fingertips.
The answer is to throw our phones into the Connecticut and go back to paper. We’ll meet at the boat landing. If you are not sure where it is, just look it up on your phone.
And, of course, you go first.
Dan Mackie lives in West Lebanon. He can be reached at dan.mackie@yahoo.com.
