So I guess that I have to admit that although I don't
love computers, I'm also not able to live without them. My daily life has
become entangled fully with computers in general, and with computer mediated
communication in particular, and (how could it not be?) I've become very
dependent on them.
That means, of course, that I have numerous phone numbers
and addresses on the computer which I can't access any other way, and various
documents that are saved on the hard disk (and of course backed-up on floppy)
of which I'm in almost constant need. But I'm referring to a different
sort of dependance here. Not to the dependence that results from having
my documents digital and available only via the computer, but the depedence
of how my daily life is conducted. I've grown so accustomed to the computer
that it's become part of the family. Thus, when the cartoon below reached
me, I thought that it was me talking.
But just what part of the family does the computer play?
It's not one of the kids, and it doesn't make demands and then sit and
cry until those demands are met. Happily it also doesn't have to be looked
after, clothed and fed and tucked into bed at night, though tidying up
its various folders and throwing out unneeded documents every so often
(Pesach and Rosh HaShannah?) doesn't hurt.
It doesn't join us at the table for meals, though Hila
still doesn't do this either. If Hila isn't sleeping during a meal, then
she'll either be playing on her blanket or reclining on a baby chair looking
at us (usually with a longing look which suggests that she'd like to get
her hands on real food). But just as from where she's positioned Hila is
a part of every meal (if in no other way than that we try to finish eating
before she wakes up), the computer, in its corner, is also a part of those
meals. Some families eat with the television on, even though they're not
watching it. We tend to leave the computer running. But even when it's
off, we're very aware that it's there.
So even though all it really does is sit there, even sitting
silently it commands a presence.
More than anything else, it determines the flow of my
evenings. After the boys are finally in bed and quiet after their stories
(and who knows, maybe even on the way to falling asleep), it's time for
Hila to have her bath and bottle, and I turn on the computer and download
mail while she's bathing. With the immense amount of mail that arrives
almost every day because of the numerous mailing lists I'm subscribed to,
the bath and downloading finish at about the same time, and I sit down
to check the mail and various other computer related tasks while Tzippi
puts Hila to bed.
Over numerous months this became
a well defined schedule... until it changed drastically when I closed my
home e-mail account (that's a topic unto itself which is related to the
demise of an on-line community which should be the topic of a future
column). Until this schedule changed drastically, I have to admit that
I was hardly aware of how addicted I'd become to it.
First, as noted, I closed my home e-mail
account. It was pretty much cold turkey. One day one hundred messages arrive,
the next, there's nothing there, or more accurately no access to them,
and they simply float off somewhere, lost in cyberspace. I'm not sure what
was harder to get used to: not having quantities of mail coming into the
house, or suddenly discovering that I had about an hour and a half "free".
What do you do in an hour and a half that suddenly presents itself to you?
Read a book? Watch television? Go to sleep early? Play computer games?
Hey, maybe even devote a bit more time to working on your thesis! The possibilities
weren't exactly limitless, but there were a number of them.
And then, a few weeks later, still without an e-mail account
at home (and actually starting to get used to it), the screen on the computer
died, and even writing a letter with a word processor, or finding files
that I'd like to work with someplace else, became impossible, and we essentially
became a computerless family. And in the words of Joni
Mitchell (though of course in an entirely different context) "don't
it always seem to go that you don't know what you've got till it's gone".
But this time the tables were turned. It seemed more like "take a parking
lot and put up paradise". Certainly there were numerous tasks to be accomplished
that didn't get attended to properly because I didn't have a computer at
home, and this generated more than a bit of tension related to school and
work, but on the whole much more tension was released than generated. So
although "paradise" is an exaggeration, not being able to perform certain
tasks very significantly changed the way our household operates, and on
the whole it was for the better.
Our computer is essentially the
tool of my profession, as Tzippi's horns are of hers. She occasionally
lets the boys blow into the horn, but certainly doesn't let them hold it
themselves. But the comparison stops there, basically as a result of that
favorite theory of computers in education people, the theory
of open tools. The horn can play any sort of music, but ultimately
it's all only music. The computer, on the other hand, can fulfill a myriad
of functions. So while I may want to finish writing a paper, Tzippi may
want to prepare a score, and the boys certainly would like to play a game,
and though the computer is good at multitasking, it doesn't let all of
these be done by all of us at the same time. Though it may not be exactly
the "center of conflict" like in the comic below, if the computer is on
when everyone else is awake, I'm rarely the person sitting in front of
it.
As a parent I've become attuned to the signs that my kids
make in order to let me know that something is amiss. I read the changes
in their behavior that tell me they need something. The computer is much
more a silent partner in our family. At present it still hasn't learned
to make signs that make me aware of its needs (if it has them). But even
though it's silent, it holds its own. It let's us know that it's there.
That's it for this edition. Reactions and suggestions
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From the Boidem -
an occasional column on computers and information technologies in everyday
life
October 23, 1997*:
We occasionally visit with a friend and teacher of Tzippi's
whose husband, until a few months ago a computer ingenue but swiftly learning
to hold his own with talk of RAM, ROM, disk capacity, and things similar,
invariably asks me "don't you just love computers?". I work with computers
every day and (I have to admit it) more or less every night as well, and
I'm also fascinated with, and captivated by, these machines and what they're
capable of. But my answer is almost always the same: No, I don't love computers;
I use them to accomplish the tasks I need them to accomplish, try not to
become emotional over their specs and abilities, and hope that I can maintain
a balance between my using them and their taking over my life.
So much in the same way that Eitan will play with Hila,
he and Nadav will play with the computer - sometimes a bit too roughly,
often arguing over whose turn it is, but almost always with real concern
and affection. And almost in the same way that I have to constantly remind
them to be gentle with their sister, I have to tell Nadav not to click
on every icon in sight, moving my files in unpredictable directions which
ultimately puts me in need of a good deal of time to search for them.