“Technoference” is a relatively new term. So, if you don’t know what it means, don’t feel badly. Essentially, the term refers to an interruption in interpersonal communications, due to personal technological devices. In other words, technoference is what happens when you are staring at your phone while you’re spouse is telling you all about his day, and then suddenly, you look up—“I’m sorry, what?”
We’ve all been there. In fact, for most of us (including myself), we find ourselves
distracted by devices multiple times each day. More specifically, my interests lie in
uncovering just how much technoference may be impacting our children. How often are
we distracted in their presence? How often are they aware of that distraction? How does
it make them feel? And, how might an interruption in bonding and attachment influence
their future relationships with others? Coping mechanisms? It seems that the potential
ripple effects from the fracturing of such fundamental parts of human development (namely, attachment and bonding) seem to be endless.
Recently, my family took a trip to Disney World (a.k.a. “The Happiest Place on Earth).
Naturally, since the release of “Please, Look up at Me,” this topic of device distraction by
caregivers has really been at the forefront of my concerns with regard to my own
parenting behavior and modeling. After writing and publishing a book with such a
powerful message delivered, I’d better be practicing what I preach. Let me share with
you what I observed on our first tech-conscious family vacation to Disney World.
First—no phone? No fast pass.
In fairness, Disney is one of those places where it is in your best interest to be plugged
in. The Walt Disney World App is an essential part of doing this, as it houses dining
plans, tickets, FastPass+ reservations, and many other important considerations for an
ideal family vacation in Disney World, Florida. Even your hotel check-in can be done via
the app. It is also important to recognize that most families save for years in order to be
able to make the trip. Taking all of this into account, I expected that most families in the
park would require at least one member to be distracted by a smartphone, in an effort to
seamlessly navigate their crew. But, parents who miss the magical cue, “Mommy,
Look! Look at Me!” calls from their children, because of the addictive rectangular glow?
In the Happiest Place on Earth? The same place that they have saved thousands of dollars to finally come to?
Heartbreaking.
Next, I’ll be frank, but without judgement. This is all very new for me, and I’m also guilty
of technoference behavior. We are all in this together—a sweep of strong parents,
reflecting, adjusting, uniting, charging—into a stormy front that can make way for
sunnier days in the lives of our children. We have simply swung the tech-pendulum a bit
too far, in this case, letting it begin to creep into the unwelcomed territory of our
children’s best interests. Nothing that a pack of enlightened Mama-bears can’t pull back on…and we will.
The point of reflection.
For those of you who have already made the trip to Disney, Orlando, this is where I ask
you to envision Magic Kingdom’s, “Dumbo the Flying Elephant.” For those of you who
don’t know the park, the Dumbo ride is a young child’s favorite—great for all ages. One
of the best parts of this ride is that there is a fairly sizable indoor playground about
halfway through the wait of the line. This makes the ride more inviting for parents and
children alike, particularly when the average wait time for any ride is about 45 minutes, as it was when we travelled there over February break.
About 15 minutes into the line, we entered a large circus tent. A lovely Dumbo attendant
greeted us by asking how many were in our party, handed us a “buzzer” and ushered us
into a large play area, with tunnels, climbers and slides—reminiscent of Chuckie Cheese or similar indoor playground. My children? Already off and running. Kurt and I were thrilled to see that there were seats for the exhausted parents—like us. Sitting there in my Disney haze, I finally felt like I had a chance to be next to my husband for a solid 10-15 minutes, watching our children in all of their awe. A mini date. Thank you, Dumbo the Flying Elephant.
Breathing in all of the excitement, I really saw and heard a powerful depiction of the digitally distracted era that we are in the throws of.
Of the parents sitting and standing among us, I’d say about 75%, were not connected or
even speaking to one another. Looking down at their phones, they seemed to have
missed that magical moment when two partners look at each other, and despite their
intense exhaustion, know that the joy radiating from their children has made it all
worthwhile. Looking back on past trips, I know that I’ve done the same.
The result of missing those simple, silent, bonding moments? Resentment, frustration,
competing thoughts and accusations of which parent is “more exhausted, “ which parent
“does more,” and a tense state that the children would not only pick up on, but feel
anxious about. My point? Those quiet moments of reflection together, observing the
fruits of our labor—even in an exhausted state, are such a crucial part of our relationship and loving bond.
The ties that bind us, robbed by the addictive elements of these portable, screened devices. And, what about our children?
Looking up, children all around the room chanted with the same kinds of calls.
“Mommy! Look! Look what I can do!”
“Daddy! Look how high I am!”
“I did it!! Look! I did it!”
Standing with their noses pressed against the meshed netting of a tunnel, so hopeful
that someone would look up at them with pride at the obstacle that they’ve successfully
achieved. Then, the very obvious disappointment on their faces when they realize that
they cannot compete with a rectangular, glowing device that has stolen their caregiver’s
attention— it’s something that I hope stays with me as a constant parental reminder.
And, what about the little girl who was frightened? She found herself in the middle of
one of the obstacles, panicked. She wanted OUT. Frozen by her fear, she just sat there,
crying for help. I scanned through all of the parents around me, unable to identify
someone who may be her “match,” looking back at her. After longer than felt
comfortable, a couple of older children seemed to guide her out. She ran quickly as she
could, still panicked, to her “person”—who was still captured by the screen. All was
ultimately fine for that child, but I wonder if that caregiver would ever know about his child’s fear of Dumbo’s Big Top Playground.
As a bystander, you want to reach out and say “excuse me, but your child really is
hoping for your to look up.” We haven’t reached that place yet—not the way we have
with other concerns for our children. We will. But for now, instead—I just stood there
and gave a thumbs up and a smile to any child who’s gaze I could catch. I responded to
my own children and made sure that my eyes were available to them when they were
eager to share their excitement with me. I nudged my husband’s shoulder with mine,
and made sure to give a nod to him as if to lovingly and proudly say, “we’re doing the parenting thing, Babe.”
And then the buzzer vibrates in my hand. It’s time to move forward…
This trip was more successful than our last. And, that’s the thing—it’s all about growing
together as a parental community— all of us. I trust that we will continue to grow, learn, and evolve together, settling into a united front on this.
I just never expected such wisdom from a flying elephant.