March 11, 2009 A group of us were involved in a rather spirited discussion one evening last week. "Wait a minute," I said, as I fished for a pen. "Would you say that again?"
The group facilitator repeated the rather pithy observation he had just made: "As we've improved communication, we've broken down community.''
That's the only line I remember word for word, but the conversation surrounding it targeted email, cell phones, texting, and the like.
"What is happening to sit-down meals, where family members actually look at each other while they talk?" a member of the group asked.
Another told a story he'd heard—about someone saying he just wanted to find his family back. "I leave the house at seven. I come home—eat dinner alone; and by 10 o'clock at night, I'm still the only one home."
Sound vaguely familiar? Get this. The guy was 10 years old.
Probably I was soaking this up because I'm technology-challenged and don't know how to do most of the stuff. The conversation firmed up my resolve: as I allow my kids to usher me into this century by tirelessly tutoring me in the wonders of technology, I will make a concerted effort to keep the dining room table from becoming a dinosaur