We have a yard full of blackbirds, both redwing and yellowheads. So, my latest earworm is that nursery rhyme about four and twenty blackbirds baked in a pie, but neither Bruce or I can remember the first line. For a lot of questions, the advice would be to go ask a kid; true for tech issues, but I’m not sure kids nowadays know any nursery rhymes. We’ve traded Mother Goose and Dr. Seuss for cell phones and tablets.
My mom, and her peers, had plenty of work to do but they took time to sit us on laps and read silly rhymes, teach life lessons by discussing fables, or just rock on a porch swing. Some pretty important conversations have happened on porch swings, or over a dishpan, but porches are out of fashion now and dishwashers took over kitchen chores.
Waiting rooms used to have magazines available. Sometimes you had interesting conversations with others who were waiting. Magazines have disappeared, and now everyone except me is on a cell phone. Mine stays in the vehicle unless I forgot and left it home. So, I people watch, and most of the people don’t look particularly happy.
When a baby is nursing, or being fed, he/she stares intently at mom’s face. This is a necessary part of bonding, but if mom is staring at a cell phone, that connection doesn’t happen.
My friends and I used to gather someplace to play ball, or cops and robbers. We dug in a sand bank to make pretend houses, and used marbles for families. Our “families” visited each other, just as our human families got together. We inherently knew the importance of human connection. Games nowadays are organized by adults who set the rules, and say when they are played, or else they’re electronic, so no human interaction is necessary.
Someone remarked last week, “Imagine all that could be if we weren’t controlled by our insecurities.” I wonder if one reason we’re so addicted to phones is that we’re afraid to risk getting to know the people that surround us. No wonder that surveys say the majority of us are lonely.
I text my adult grandkids on their birthdays, if I have a phone number. I’d send a card, but I don’t have addresses for most of them. This will sound “old school,” but I’m pretty convinced that one of our most basic needs is human presence. A greeting card is better than a text. A phone call means even more. Stopping by for a chat rates even higher, and a hug is best of all.
By the way, if any of you “old people” recall the first line of the blackbird poem, let me know the next time we meet. In person, of course.
Meet me here next week and meanwhile do your best. Someone might like it.