I am an iPad kid. Technically speaking. Technically speaking as in I am (quite joyfully) typing on an iPad at this very moment. I love my iPad. I think that it is one of the most revolutionary inventions since the bagel guillotine. It’s not a phone. It’s not a computer. It is the perfect mix of the two, making the iPad such a wonderful, dynamic tool that I cannot
understand why more people don’t have one. There is no joy quite like an iPad. This I wholeheartedly believe.
Therefore, I am extremely unnerved by this constant barrage of hate directed towards the so-called iPad kids in our society. I myself have been at the butt of many iPad kid jokes, receiving just a fraction of the mockery these poor children experience. I have never quite understood what the problem is. Sure, they’re sticky-looking. They probably smell like fish sticks and peanut butter. But if you just don’t get too close to them, they are perfectly harmless.
At least this is what I thought, until I had a real-life iPad kid sighting that changed my life. I was sitting in the waiting room at my doctor’s office when this kid walked in with an iPad held so close to his face that his skin and the screen were at risk of fusing together. Without once
looking up, he savvily navigated the small space and plopped down in a chair next to his mom. Not once did I see him lift his head, nor did I hear his mother ask him to do so. After 20 minutes, I grew genuinely concerned. My legally blind grandmother doesn’t stare at things that closely. What could he possibly be watching that required so much undivided attention? How long has he been on this thing? Does this kid know where he is or was he so engrossed in his digital bliss that it didn’t matter? Don’t his eyes hurt from staring at that screen for so long? I was tempted to give his mom my optometrist’s number.
This particular encounter was truly shocking to me. I was never given an iPad to play with while I waited in a doctor’s office as a kid. I wasn’t given an iPad while I waited for anything. I stared at the wall for an hour until it was time to go home, like every other kid. My entire childhood was spent waiting, whether at my grandma’s appointments, my mother’s, my sister’s or my dad’s. With no babysitter, I tagged along everywhere and quietly sat with my hands in my lap until we went to the next waiting room. If my childhood lasted a total of 10 years, at least 3 of those years were spent staring blankly at walls. I kept myself entertained with my thoughts, observed the other people around me, and sometimes watched a squirrel or two run around outside. I was perfectly content.
What I notice now, though, is a steadfast unwillingness to be present. Kids are on their parents’ phones in churches and grocery stores, glued to their iPads during car rides and remain completely engrossed in the world of Bluey and Bingo that they don’t notice — or rather, care — where they are. It seems that clowns, snakes and spiders have been replaced by a new greatest fear: boredom. Kids cannot stand the notion of sitting quietly and staring at a wall.
I will continue to defend the iPad kids against their onslaught of scorn, though. iPad kids are not the problem, no matter how much everyone hates them. Look up right now and count how many people, adults and children alike, are consumed by their phone or laptop. I guarantee
you that it is almost everyone in the room. We are all iPad kids in our own right. No one, no matter how old, enjoys spending a moment without some form of external stimulation. Sometimes, even the external stimulation is not enough to keep the fear of boredom from
creeping in again. We must be occupied at all times.
I cannot pinpoint exactly when everyone started to fear presence in their lives, but it is a jarring phenomenon to realize. Personal thoughts are unwelcome intruders. Boredom is more terrifying than Walmart on Black Friday. An intense discomfort with simply occupying a space has plagued humans around the globe. It wasn’t always like this. There was a time when we sat with our thoughts and happily entertained ourselves as we waited for appointments or sat through long car rides. There was a time when “nothing” was a perfectly fine thing to do.
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