RIP, Mr. Potato Head

When my sons were little, I spent thousands of dollars on toys aimed at stimulating their imaginations. Then one day I bought them an iPhone which I soon discovered was designed only to stimulate their thumbs.

I’m thinking quite deeply on this subject after viewing the thought-provoking Pixar feature film, Toy Story 5.

Jessie, Woody, and even Buzz have me contemplating where children are today thanks to the multitude of devices out there designed to somehow pass for the modern version of a “toy.”

How we went from board games, LEGOs, and stuffed animals to devices is still a mystery to me. It all happened so fast. One day my son was building a Playmobile fort and the next day he was designing a theme park on the PC in my office, a game called Roller Coaster Tycoon. Watching him at ten-years-old decide where to build the highest rollercoaster in the world while staying within budget was both awe inspiring and depressing at the same time. While I thought it was “educational” for him to learn the ins and outs of building and managing his own theme park, I likewise felt a little sad to see him spend hours of his childhood glued to my desk chair with his eyes fixated on a computer screen.

He has his entire life to do that. Also, when he couldn’t make his loan payments and the imaginary bank foreclosed on the imaginary park, he felt defeated and devastated. I thought, “This game is unhealthy. It’s making him depressed.” Little did I realize that I needn’t worry because his angst was short-lived. All he had to do was hit the reset button and start over.

Video games were the worst culprits in our house. Both my sons played them at various points in time which prevented them from enjoying other activities, so much so that I can distinctly remember one time that the "other activity" was completely overshadowed.

My oldest was playing recreational baseball for the junior version of the Yankees. In one game, his “Yankees” lost particularly badly. On the way home from the game I asked him if he was sad about the outcome. “No,” he told me, “This morning I won the World Series twice on my Xbox, so I’m great!”

That’s one way to deal with life’s disappointments.

Escape to your imaginary world.

I always used to hate it when my parents would tell me that life was better when they were kids. It kind of felt like bragging. Now that I’m older, I realize that it’s actually part of the natural evolution of childhood. Every generation loses something and gains something else. Our kids know things about technology I can't begin to understand. But I do wonder what they traded away to learn it.

Childhood was, in fact, better when I was a kid. We had Etch A Sketch. It may not have been the most riveting toy to play with, but you never had to worry about it bugging out completely because it needed a software update. My Lite-Brite didn’t need a password. Lincoln Logs didn’t send out push notifications. Slinky never quit going because it lost its Bluetooth connection. No, you just played with these things until you got tired of them and went on to something else.

Also, we kept moving. We rode bicycles all over our neighborhood. I’m very proud to note that I was the Pogo Stick champion of my neighborhood. I once tried out for the school talent show with an act dancing on stilts. I certainly couldn’t have mastered any of these activities if I’d spent hours glued to a screen.

In fairness, I don’t think the problem rests solely with the children. As parents, we purchase an orchard of Apple products and distribute them to family members of all ages. What do we expect them to do with them? And what do we do with the iPhones and iPads in our own possession? Half the time the reason kids aren’t talking to their parents is because their parents are texting funny memes with their own friend group.

The truth is we've become a family of people who communicate primarily through glowing rectangles. We can sit in the same room for two hours and never exchange a complete sentence. If someone actually speaks aloud, everyone looks up as though a smoke detector just went off.

Ironically, one important part of childhood missing today is sheer boredom. Being utterly and completely bored is an important part of healthy development. Boredom begets creativity. Without devices to mindlessly entertain, imagination can break boredom. With nothing else to entertain us, my childhood friends and I would build cabins and forts out of couch cushions. Some of my favorite childhood memories are playing “Pioneers” where we all pretended we were early American settlers. Okay, that may not sound fun to you, but I had a blast.

Board games don't care who wins. Bikes don't care how fast you ride. Stuffed animals don't need batteries.

They simply wait patiently for someone to pick them up again.

One of the nicest sounds I remember from raising young children wasn't a ringtone or a notification. It was LEGO bricks being dumped onto the living room floor. It was Monopoly money scattered across the table. It was hearing, "Mom, come see what I built."

Maybe that's why Toy Story 5 hit me a little harder than I expected.

It wasn't really about toys.

It was about childhood.

And while I'm grateful my sons grew up before phones completely took over, I have a feeling the old toys tucked away in our attic are still hoping that somewhere, someday, another little imagination will come looking for them.

“Can We Get a Dog?” Five Words that Change Moms Life