The school playground behind my apartment is empty except for a father and his children. Two of the kids are on bikes and one’s on a scooter. All are very wobbly.
The father is seated in the shade. He’s immersed in his phone. Tapping on it rapidly. Hunched over with his face inches away from the screen.
If one of the children toppled, I’m not even sure he’d notice.
I’m judging him and thinking about how this never would have happened 20 years ago. The biggest distraction then would have been a magazine or a crossword puzzle.
But suddenly I’m aware of my assumptions. I assume he’s on social media. Or going through work emails.
But he could be communicating with his parent. Or his sibling. Or he could be reading the news, which somehow seems more justifiable.
So go debates about the impact of modern technology. Maybe its not the technology that drives vices. Or sparks acts of compassion. It’s the people that wield it.
I think I’ll go inside. My phone is almost dead.
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