Untethered by Emma Wilkins

Photo Source: Unsplash

Our 13-year-old should be home by now. He can call—on a pay phone, on a friend’s phone, on a stranger’s phone—but we cannot call him, we haven’t given him his own.

Studies, research, experts, tell us smartphones and social media and screens are doing harm. Switching on is easy, switching off is hard; especially when devices are always in arm’s reach, and platforms are addictive by design.

It’s not just about what kids are accessing, it’s what they miss. When wandering the world with downcast eyes, what don’t they see? Adults know, from failing to be “present”, how divided our attention can now be.

It’s been a minute, maybe two, he’s still not home. He can call us—and sometimes does—but we cannot call him. 

Parents know the benefit of giving children lifts: you’re a fly upon the wall as they chatter in the back—but when those children are on phones, they might not speak. The windows boast an ever-changing view, but don’t attract a glance; the fly upon the wall learns not a thing.

What if he’s still not back by dark? Will I contact the police? They'll assume that he’s not answering his phone; I'll explain he doesn’t have a phone. That we keep weighing pros and cons, keep concluding that the pros are yet to win.

Do all of us, as teenagers, resolve we won’t turn into adults who complain about, resist, technology? Adults who are always saying “no”? I did. So why am I resisting saying “yes”? Is my view of what’s “best” tainted by nostalgia? Rose-tinted remembrance of the past?

But some young people now are nostalgic too. Some say they’re losing the ability to socialise without anxiety, without a screen. Some have started “offline clubs” where they surrender their devices; meet each other’s eyes, converse with reckless spontaneity, feel reckless joy.

My son is still not home. The peace of mind—of knowing he could call us and that we could just call him—is readily available. We needn’t get a smartphone, we could buy one that is “dumb”. It might benefit us parents, give us some peace of mind—but we still think he is safer, healthier, happier, chattier, for now at least, without.

It’s been almost five minutes—now he’s walking through the door. He is safe, he has been safe all along.

Emma Wilkins is a Tasmanian journalist and freelance writer who's been published by magazines, journals and news outlets in Australia and beyond. You can find her at: https://emmahwilkins.com/ and her essay collection at: https://www.solumpress.com/publications-love