Once upon a time, we visited. When I was a young mother we visited often with other mothers tending small children. Morning coffee with friends was not unusual. Then, children grew, and mothers went back to work.
We visited with family usually on the weekends. Frequently, in those days of cheap gas, we would go for a ride as a family, sometimes stopping for a Sunday visit with friends of parents. We visited grandparents in nearby towns, almost always stopping to visit friends or family along the way.
I recall that, as a child, I spent many evenings sitting on someone’s front porch. My nearest grandparents had a house that sat far back from the street, so few people “just happened” to drop by. We went instead to my great aunt’s front porch, with its proximity to the sidewalk. There neighbors strolling by on a summer evening would stop and porch sit for a while. It was there “little pitchers with big ears” heard many interesting tales.
I married a gregarious man, who, wherever we went, had people he wanted to stop by and see.
Now I do not think we do that as much. Is it just because I have gotten older? I don’t think so. I am still pretty active most of the time. Maybe therein lies the problem, if that is indeed what it is.
We are certainly an organized society. Much of what we do is regulated by groups — church, clubs, committees, programs, meetings and the occasional party. We are busy, busy, busy.
I think there is more to it than that, however. In the summertime we have been driven inside by air-conditioning. No longer do we need to seek the coolness of a porch swing on a hot summer evening. If they are even there, we no longer see neighbors strolling in the gloaming. More than likely, they have done their power walk earlier, even in the heat of the day. They can always cool off afterward in the blessed air-conditioning. They can later consume the calories they have burned off with a sophisticated dinner.
Television, too, has taken its toll on personal contact. News is spread by pixels rather than people. Many of us have our favorite programs and have been known to resent interruption. Although it is becoming increasingly difficult for me to find anything I like on TV, heaven help me when someone interrupts Nova.
I understand there are people who are attached to their computers. I do not qualify for that category, yet some people get their interaction from Facebook or Twitter, not to mention the constant demand of texts from all those smart phones.
I confess to missing some of the personal contacts. I’d much rather talk to a real live person face to face than use any technological marvel, including the lowly land line telephone.
Progress is wonderful. I readily concede that, but sometimes, stealthily, it robs us of the pleasure of visiting someone in person.
Betty Boyls Stone is a freelance writer, who grew up in Columbus.
The Dispatch Editorial Board is made up of publisher Peter Imes, columnist Slim Smith, managing editor Zack Plair and senior newsroom staff.
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