As I scribe these words, Superbowl XLVII (47) is probably at halftime. I’m missing it because, well, that’s one of the things you sacrifice when you ditch your TV. Sure, I could watch it online too, but I’d much rather write this piece; it means a bit more to me.
A week ago, my wife and I purchased smart phones. We were accustomed to the old school text and talk phones we bought two years ago, but our cell phone provider made us an offer we couldn’t refuse; the reason we couldn’t refuse it was mainly because my wife’s phone quite literally blew up and smart phones, surprisingly, were the cheapest replacement.
Since we brought the devices into our home, however, the family dynamic has changed. We are attached to these little boxes that can fit every bit of knowledge (and stupidity) the world has ever known into our pockets. I’ve tweeted more in the last week than I have in the last three months, read more using the Kindle app than I have in the past 30 days and had the luxury of being able to video chat with my sick daughter while at a teacher’s conference.
Here’s the rub, I’ve noticed that while I am at work and at play, the reception waves flow from this lifeless bit of machinery into my soul and pull me away from many opportunities to become saintly. While roving between my students, I’m revising my email instead of helping them understand my already confusing lessons. When holding my youngest daughter, I’m lol-ing at the latest CatholicMeme instead of making her lol by tickling her without mercy. While my oldest daughter climbs upon my lap to offer me a bowl of imaginary soup she made, I open my mouth wide without making the slightest bit of eye contact and swallow the guilt that has inspired these very words.
I know what I am doing for Lent and, hopefully, forever.