What Have We Done?

 I experienced a troubling thing today. We were in Brockville. After turning out from a little shopping plaza there and heading towards Edward Street or Hwy 29, there was a group of young teenagers running across the street in straggling groups. They didn't have a light; they were running across traffic. Some, then some more, then some more, in order of who was willing to take the chance. I'm not good at guessing ages between about 9 and 17, but Sharon put them at 14.

When the last kids ran across before we got to where they were, there came a girl's panicked scream from the sideway they made it to: "My PHONE! My PHONE!"

The last girl had dropped her phone on the way across. Sharon spotted it and pointed it out to me. I slammed on the brakes and hit the hazard lights, and jumped out and warned other traffic to stop with my upward outstretched hand like a crossing guard. It was a couple of lanes over from us and I ran to it and picked it up. It was face up and didn't appear any the worse for wear, but I didn't have any time to dally looking at it.

As it was dangerous to continue to cross to her with traffic coming that did not know what was going on, a male friend of hers from the sidewalk they had ran from called, "Bring it to me! I'll give it to her!" He was a little wiser than the rest and stayed back and was walking to the corner where he had a traffic light to cross safely with.

What got me was the blind panic behind those screams. No lady losing her baby in a raging river or a burning building would have screamed much louder. The faces of ALL those kids was that of abject horror. They were frozen in fear.

Calls of "THANK YOU, THANK YOU!" came from several of the kids on the left sidewalk.

I delivered the phone to the East Indian kid on the right sidewalk that said he'd give it to her. He had an expression of extreme gratitude on his face, and he almost looked like he wanted to throw himself at me and hug me.

This whole episode was over an inanimate object the size of a few credit cards and the thickness of a floor tile.

I quickly returned to the car and got back in to move out of the way of traffic coming up from the rear. As we drove away, with an amused smile, Sharon said, "You are those kids' Hero, you know".

No I'm not. It was a friggin' phone, not a Life.

I found it hard to take her praise on their behalf as a compliment. I grimly and resignedly took it more as a Sign of the Times.

Feeling the extreme need, I stuck my head out the window and called to the throng waving back, "Be Careful, Kids!" I sat back into the seat, signalled Right, and turned onto Hwy 29 towards home, my thoughts taking me places I had never been.

You could not possibly imitate that scream unless a life was on the line. No way. Only sheer panic and terror could pull the shriek that was present in her word "PHONE!" out of your vocal cords. It was like, "My BABY! My BABY!" As in a real, Living, breathing human infant. I don't like the use of a bunch of exclamation marks in punctuation, but they would not be out of place in this instance. An actress would need a vocal coach and training to reach the crystal shattering pitch that came with those screams. Even then I doubt they could convincingly hit it.

The last time I heard a shriek like that was over 25 years ago when my ex-wife's Doberman suddenly and spontaneously bolted out the driveway right in front of a car on the speedway that was the Queens Line. Her dog's name was Dominique, and, in the fright of thinking she was going to be run right over, it came out as "DominEEEK!" But that was a Life, and an EXTREMELY close call. Dominique made it, but by inches. Probably more like an inch or even a fraction of an inch. She actually slipped and fell trying to stop when she saw the oncoming car and slid across under its front bumper but was missed by the front tires. It was that close. I saw it myself. That was what made Denise scream like that. She thought for certain her beloved Dominique was going to be gruesomely killed before her very eyes. I did too.

That was the only other time I can recall in my life I heard a shriek of such helpless, terrified intensity. But that scream involved a Life with a heartbeat and breath and a conscience and a personality and a presence... not a mere phone that is no more animate than a stone without external, intelligent influence and innervation.

What has the world come to when something that would fit in your pocket and isn't even aware of itself much less you can illicit that kind of terror, not only in its owner, but her group of friends also? I asked Sharon that, and she laughed and replied, "You don't understand what those phones mean to those kids!"

No, I guess I do not. At least I didn't before that little/big event.

I had responded to the screams like it was a living thing she was fearing for. They were all too young for it to be a baby. A kitten? A puppy? A hamster? When I found myself running across traffic to rescue a flat piece of rubber-encased glass slate, the total absurdity of the situation crashed on me. This is NUTS. I am truly given now to think they might consider a phone as valuable as a Life. They revere it. They cherish it. They almost WORSHIP it. They uphold it in a manner it is entirely ineligible for and unworthy of.

Most of you know I have never been any fan of smart phones and the zombifying effect they have had on so many people, but that experience was still an eye opener to me. The only real life in those kids was when they thought a cell phone was going to 'die'.

No wonder you see people walking blindly and obliviously down the street, glued to their phone, totally connected to it, and utterly disconnected from the people and environment around them. I have even observed a Pastor of a local church doing so! People driving, looking down at their phone, instead of up at the traffic and road conditions and being on the lookout for pedestrians. Sitting in a group around a table, no one talking, but everyone fiddling with their phones. The masses affected by them just plod along, mindlessly, glassy-eyed and drooling. Until they drop it in traffic.

What have we allowed our children to become such slaves to? I cannot possibly even begin to scream like that but I genuinely fear for their future.

May God help these poor children and not hold it against us for we are the ones who have made them so poor.