My Life Before Cell Phones
How boring and unfulfilling life must certainly have been for those who were deprived of such conveniences. How was it we were able to even survive or achieve any happiness at all?
My Life Before Cell Phones
My children and grandchildren often wonder what life was like before we were all enslaved to cell-phones and innumerable other technological wonders. They can’t imagine living a life without social media, Instagram, Netflix, Youtube and Tic-Toc. With sorrowful looks on their faces they marvel at how boring and unfulfilling life must certainly have been for those who were deprived of such conveniences. How was it we were able to even survive or achieve any happiness at all?
From my perspective, I recognize the great conveniences of cell phones. I see how they can be used for much good or for much evil. I can honestly and enthusiastically say that I feel very fortunate to have grown up during a time when such miraculous technology was unimaginable.
According to a recent survey, in 2024, 50% of Americans spend 5-6 hours on their cell phones daily. The great illusion is that cell phones are helping build relationships. The reality is that we are now living in a parallel reality of digital relationships. Many have learned that the cyber world is not a viable replacement for the real world of actual interaction with friends and family. Cell phones provide us the convenience of staying in touch with others but social isolation is often the result.
I grew up in Meadville, a small town in northwestern Pennsylvania, just south of Lake Erie. It was a town where neighbors waved from their porch and took time to speak to each other. I always thought the adults in my neighborhood had organized a spy network of sorts. If I were involved in any sort of mischief my parents were sure to hear about it. I was often scolded by neighbors for my misdeeds and later invited into their kitchen for oreo cookies and milk.
I have recently pondered about what I would have missed if I had a cell phone in my youth.
Had I a cell phone to gaze at while planted on the living room couch…
I would have missed the blackberry fight I had with Mike and Frank at age 12. We often went to the blackberry patch for a natural snack in the early days of school-free summer. When we had finally had our fill, we reverted to our real purpose of seeking out the blackberry patch. We began chunking black berries at each other in an all-out blackberry war. Later, on laundry day, when my mother asked about all the black berry stains on my clothes, I had no answer to give.
I would have missed those cool summer nights when Jerry and I slept in the tree house my father built for us in the old apple tree in our backyard. We spooked each other with imaginations of bears, mountain lions and all other sorts of tree climbing creatures. We competed in apple-eating contests which we would pay dearly for on the day to follow.
I would have missed the many times I attempted to climb the highest tree on our property. I would have never heard my father cheer me on from the base of that tree, encouraging me to grab one more branch, and reach a little higher. I have drawn so many life applications from this simple experience in my youth. My father encouraged us to do dangerous things safely.
I would have missed strapping fishing poles to our bikes for an afternoon of fishing in Tamarack Lake. Jerry always caught more fish than I did. To make the long bike ride more enjoyable we lit firecrackers and threw them high over our heads as we sped along.
I would have missed all the fun we had in the creek behind our home. We caught crawfish and salamanders and occasionally a large bullfrog. In the cold days of winter we slid along the ice and enjoyed watching it break apart under the weight of the large rocks we threw. The walk home in freezing temperatures was beyond miserable as our water soaked clothing froze in the winter wind. Sometimes we stood our frozen pants beside the heat register until they thawed. The pain we felt in our fingers and toes did not prevent us from repeating this adventure in the days that followed.
I would have missed our trip to the county junkyard where we shattered bottles against the rocks. Sometimes we took our BB guns and used tin cans for target practice. Our greatest junkyard thrill was breaking old TV picture tubes.
I would have missed swinging on vines over the deep ravines.in the forest behind our home. Or squirrel and rabbit hunting alone at age 12. My father trusted me because he had taught me well and I had learned well. My mother cooked the first rabbit I killed and I was so proud to have contributed to the family’s supper that night.
I would have missed learning from my Uncle Walter how to skin and cure a raccoon’s hide.
I would have missed the harrowing experience of getting disoriented while hunting deer in a snowstorm at Uncle Tom’s house. The snowfall was so heavy it made it impossible to retrace my steps. As darkness approached I made for the high ground and after a long and difficult climb I looked across the wide Pennsylvania valley and recognized my uncle’s farm. I walked into his yard as he and my father were organizing a search party and hid from them all the fright and panic I felt having been lost in the winter woods.
I would have missed building snow forts in the winter and burying myself in the massive drifts created by the snow plows that cleared the roads during the dark, winter nights. I would have missed unforgettable moments of being blinded by the snow while riding a toboggan down a long pasture slope.
I would have missed riding in the sleigh drawn by an old nag at my uncle’s farm.
I would have missed riding mini-bikes through St. Bridgett’s Cemetery and playing ‘army’ or ‘cowboys and Indians’ among the tombstones.
I would have missed so many experiences in my youth had I spent all my time looking at a screen. The incoming clouds and the leaves of the trees warned us of a storm coming, not an app on a phone. When we were lost and needed direction, we didn’t reach for a cell phone, we interacted with real people who earned their living running a ‘service station’. That brief conversation gave us the direction we needed and their helpfulness warmed their own hearts.
I didn’t need a phone call to tell me it was time to go home. That was a faithful deed performed by the setting sun.
I lived a life free of stimulating dopamine surges provided by constant notifications and frivolous communications. We measured ourselves, not by the number of ‘likes’ indicating that someone, somewhere, liked a thought we had or a word we said. We were measured by what we were able to accomplish in the time we were given. I didn’t have any friends who cared what I had for breakfast, nor did they care to see a picture of me eating oatmeal and buttered toast.
I may have never known the value of real friendships. I didn’t live under the illusion that friends were so easily made by simply ‘friending’ them. We’ve diminished the meaning of the word ‘friend’ by applying it to a multitude of people we hardly know. Real friendships require a significant amount of investment. I had many friends who loved to share good times. But I had one or two best friends who were faithful to show up when I needed help bearing life’s heavy burdens. The memories and experiences I shared with friends and loved ones were so much more meaningful than counting clicks and sharing emoti images.
I would have missed reading books in the hammock on breezy, summer days.
I would have missed hours of chess playing with my two older brothers.
I would have missed long walks with my dog in the woods, wrestling with my dad on the living room floor, and observing with wonder as my mother baked a rhubarb or blackberry pie.
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I love living in an age in which I can enjoy the conveniences provided by the cell phone. But I recognize how fortunate I am to have lived a good portion of my life without the cell phone.