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Summertime and the livin's... easy?

Summer is here! Tis the season of travel—the season of flight delays, lost luggage, and overbooked planes and overpriced airport everything. It seems like everyone is on the road these days, and although we start out as strangers, a flight cancellation or delay can often turn a group of unknowns into a strange kind of family.

I’ve always loved being in transit, whether in the air, on wheels, or by water. It’s the act of being transported from one place to another – to be in between worlds. I love airports, bus depots, rest stops, train stations and ferry terminals. All those strangers on their way to somewhere else. I always wonder about where they might be going. Is it for business or fun? With family, friends, or simply a solo escapade?
 
My father traveled a lot when I was growing up so the airport was a charged place for our family – the place where we said our tearful goodbyes and the site of our joyful reunions when he returned weeks, sometimes months, later. Before the days of homeland security, my family and I used to walk my father all the way to his gate and meet him there upon his return. As I got older and began to travel more by myself, the airport was a place of independence, and when I returned from my trips, the first sight of home.
 
One of my favorite parts of traveling is the people watching. The woman whose precious dog gets a seat to himself in a full terminal. The college student returning home at the end of the semester. The older couple helping each other down the long jetway. Some of the best people to watch are the tiny ones – babies and toddlers exploring this strange bustling world. (Parenthood looks like a lot of chasing!)
 
The other day, while waiting for a delayed flight, I ended up sitting at a long table filled with lots of different people—most of them posted up there for the power outlets; almost everyone was plugged into their devices—eyes glued to a screen, attention on anything except the present moment. And then a family came and joined us at the table—a young couple and their four children ranging in ages from 3 to 9. I watched from the corner of my eye as they set up shop next to me and settled in for a long night of waiting; their flight had been delayed, too.
 
Imagine my amazement when this family didn’t pull out a single device. Instead, the parents played a card game with their son and daughter. Their second oldest dove into a book while the youngest emptied a baggy full of toys onto the table and was busy building a world of her own making in no time.
 
I couldn’t help but gawk. They didn’t look Amish, but their behavior was truly unusual in the sea of screens that was the airport terminal.
 
I don’t have children of my own, but I already feel very strongly about not allowing screens in their life until their brains have matured and developed sufficiently. I’m sure my stance doesn’t surprise you, but I already worry how it will be possible to shield my children my screens in a world that is increasingly dependent on them. I’m not the only one who feels this way; California tech developers are the ones sending their children in droves to screen-free schools. They know far too well what the consequences of their products are on brains.
 
One of the saddest conversations I had was with my little cousin; she must have been around 8 or 9. I asked her about school. Did she like her teacher? What about her classmates? She named one who was her friend. “He doesn’t have a cell phone either,” she said. “And everyone else?” I asked. “They’re boring. They don’t wanna play or do stuff, only play with their phones.”
 
My father’s mantra when I was growing up was, “Television rots your brain.” He was right. In college, I learned about child development and the way that passive interactions (like watching television) at a young age alter neurological pathways, making skills like problem solving and compassion harder to develop. If television could damage a developing brain’s neurological pathways, I wonder what impact screens and handheld devices are having on the tiny people whose parents let them have one.

Carmella Guiol on Medium
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