I’m allergic to proposals. I just finished and mailed a twenty-eight-page proposal for a work of fiction that I just wrote, and throughout all of it, I had to battle back the lazy, incredulity that Rabiner talked about at length. Won’t they just read my book and give me money? Can’t they just do what I want them to instead of doing what they’ve learned works throughout their careers? I knew my indolence was childish and ignorant, so I just muscled through and did what I was supposed to.
And as a curveball, I’ve changed what I’m going to write about given the comments our professor posted on my last blog. The whole “cult” thing would’ve worked because it’s garishly interesting, but it would’ve only worked hypothetically because I have no particular expertise in that Kool-Aid drinking realm. So, in a nutshell, I’m going to write a work of serious nonfiction about the detrimental effects of cellphones on today’s teenagers. In this arena, I swear to you that I’m one of the premier experts in the field. And as to our assignment this week, here’s the story that piqued my interest in the subject:
My teenager attends a charter high school. It’s one of those newer institutes that stresses all sorts of new-age thinking and alternative structure, but it’s a good fit for our oldest daughter. I was called into school because she had done something wrong, and they told me her phone was becoming detrimental to her learning. So, I asked the obvious question: as her teachers, can’t you guys just take her phone while she’s in class? That way, I’d still be able to get ahold of her after school, but the phone wouldn’t be a distraction. Problem solved, easy-cheesy.
But they said no. As it turns out, teachers have learned that taking a child’s phone does more damage than good because when it’s taken, the anxiety becomes crippling for the child, and it becomes impossible for them to function throughout the rest of the day. Seriously. Some of the teachers even prefer it if the children leave their phones on their desks—facedown, of course—while they’re taking tests because the pacifying reassurance of having their phone on hand assures fewer distractions and higher test scores. Isn’t that crazy?
So, I started doing a little research and I discovered that the problem is far more detrimental than most parents think. When we were children, we’d learn about the scary things in life piecemeal, and we’d do so slowly. And when we’d discover something shocking, we’d take it to our parents and try to process the new information organically. But now, every bit of that scary information is blinding our children through the lightning rods they hold in their hands and stare at incessantly. There is no filter; there is no natural time to process one piece of adult information before moving onto the next. And the effects are observable: children are growing more desensitized than ever before, they’re doing drugs and having sex earlier than ever before, and they’re considering themselves to be adults, even though they aren’t. And why shouldn’t they? If they’re privy to all the information that was once reserved for adults only, doesn’t that by default make them adults? The answer is no, obviously, but modern children disagree because their social media reassurances tell them it’s okay.
I’m obviously not going to make the same mistake with my eight-year-old; she’ll get an actual phone when she’s mature enough for one. But I learned my lesson through experience. So, what about all those parents who’re looking forward to the teenaged years with trepidation regarding technology and social media? In all honesty, I think I could write a book—an actual book—that would scare the bejesus out of these parents to the point wherein they’d make a more rational decision than we did. So, that’s what I’m going to do.