Turning Off and Tuning In

I sat in a pizza place one Sunday evening, waiting for my order to be ready. On the other side of the restaurant, I spotted a dad and his young son. The boy couldn’t have been more than two or three years-old. I assume they were waiting for their dinner as well. The little boy was cute and curious. He didn't appear to be doing anything you might consider out of control. Yet all I heard was the dad correcting him, telling him to sit properly, to be quiet. To each his own, I thought. He wants to be stern with his kid, that's his choice. But every time this dad spoke to his son, he had to tear his eyes away from his iPhone. When he was finished parenting, he would quickly glance back down.

A few days before that, I was standing in line at CVS, waiting to pay. I saw another dad engrossed in his iPhone as his two children – a boy and a girl - stood about five feet away from him eating a pack of M&M’s. We've all been there. Throw a snack at them to keep them quiet. But I heard the little girl, who was maybe four, call her dad’s name. Her attempt to get his attention fell on deaf ears. Whatever had filled his inbox was much more important.

I don’t like to judge other parents. I'd rather give everyone the benefit of the doubt. What works for you might not necessarily work for me. But in all honestly, it bothered me so much because that used to be me. I was that guy. These dads - and me before them - are just a few in a sea of distracted parents who are missing opportunities to engage and enlighten their children. Knowing I was that guy, watching other parents do it is heartbreaking and frustrating.

They're all off

About a month ago, My Director and I talked about going hands-free around Peanut. Especially during those two precious hours we have with her every night during the week. Turn off our phones. No laptop or iPad. Shortly after we talked about it, almost serendipitously, we found the blog of Hands Free Mama. She's started a movement, urging parents to tune out the technology and tune in to their children. We were on board after reading this post, where she lists the ways you can miss a childhood. The one that really hit home for me: checking your blackberry at a red light while your child sits in the backseat watching you.

What going hands free has done, more important than actually talking to Peanut, is force us to listen to her. When we're done listening, we respond. We have a conversation. That email, that game of Angry Birds, that tweet can wait. As hard as it has been for me to admit, the world can wait for my witty retort to someone's status update. It’s so trivial compared to what Peanut is saying, asking, wondering.

Technology is not worth interrupting my time with Peanut. She deserves more than two hours. But that’s all she gets right now; so she's going to get my undivided attention. If you include commuting and wireless communication, work gets me for at least twelve hours a day. That’s plenty. Everything can wait until Peanut is tucked away in bed.

I must admit, it's not easy. But at the same time, it's wonderfully liberating. Eye-opening, even. And Peanut notices. She's happy. Content. She is getting what she deserves: all of us.

I'd be lying if I didn't admit there are slip-ups. I’m just sharing what I consider a revelation. An awakening from a tech junkie who can very well become consumed with Facebook, Twitter, email, and blogging. But not at the expense of my daughter. Not at the expense of what she considers important. Not anymore. What she wants to do, and talk about, is what matters most. Even if she's vegging out on the couch watching Doc McStuffins after school, I am right there with her. Singing, commenting, engaging. The laptop safely tucked away, no longer on my lap.

One day Peanut will look back at her childhood. She’ll remember the big things, of course. And she’ll remember some little things as well. I just want to make sure she remembers her dad was watching her and not consumed by the glow of a little screen.