It used to be a joke, the whole idea that kids could watch television, listen to music, talk on the phone, and also study — all of it simultaneously. As college students, we sometimes studied to a background of music, which our parents found strange, but these days kids manage to multitask so much more without once tripping over the tangle of wires in their wi-fi zones.
“My dad,” my daughter said into the mobile, presumably to a friend, “is going hysterical,” and all because I’d popped my head into the study to remind her that her exams now loomed ahead. “I know,” she put her conference call on hold to point to a page on her laptop monitor which was open on a scanned page with some notes on it, “I’m discussing the syllabus with my group.”
It’s a wonder she could remember what she was saying or doing since, at the same time, she was also chatting, if the icons at the bottom of the monitor were any indication, with at least a half-dozen friends. As if that and the conference call on the mobile phone were not enough, the landline was similarly engaged, and while she “worked” — her words — an episode of Gossip Girl was being downloaded for late night viewing, while music blasted in the background.
Time was when teens would worry about their parents invading the privacy of their rooms, but they are now so booby trapped as to scare away most guardians. My wife and I are both wary of entering the children’s rooms for fear of what we might stumble over — not just stale pizza tucked away under the bed, but bits and bobs of wired technology that can trip you up if you don’t understand its function. I once went looking for a mobile charger in my daughter’s bedroom and was reduced to tears when one after another, the gizmos I managed to unearth turned out to be an iPod, a video-pod, speaker earphones for the TV and the mobile and things I couldn’t even begin to understand the function of. There were gadgets strewn around that emitted strange beeps and lights, trance music streamed somewhere even though there was no one in the room, a television surfed channels of its own volition, and a mobile phone on snooze mode nearly caused me a cardiac arrest.
Now in her study room, she was still in complaining mode. “He’s tearing his hair out,” she broadcast to her conference group, her fingers presumably tapping out a similar message of parental tyranny to those connected on chat mode. “Stop giggling,” she admonished whoever was holding on to the other end of the landline connection. “Gosh, she’s a psycho,” she shouted, briefly sharing her views on a participant in the reality show Roadies with whoever was listening in, continuing without a pause even for a breath, “So who’s arranging the annual report for the project, and has anyone Googled the information on the company yet?”
“Really,” I couldn’t help my admonitory tone, “how can you even think in all this mess?” My daughter held up a hand, as if telling me to ward me off, while she spoke into the landline: “It’s a surprise party, so be there in time.” To the mobile groupies, she said, “I’m okay with doing the PowerPoint provided someone else does the graphics.” Fascinated, I peeped over her shoulder to see her fingers dance across the keyboard. “Let’s all wear pink to college tomorrow,” she wrote to one friend, and “I’ll dish you out if you don’t have the charts up for football selections tomorrow” to another, before turning to me to say, “Dad, I love you dearly, but if you must know, your presence is ruining my concentration.”
