Whoever invented the iPad over at Apple is one son-of-a-bitch. (Was it Steve Jobs? Not sure.) I hope his home-wrecking invention causes his family as much trouble and stress as it has caused mine since my older son, Leo, got one as a present from his grandmother for doing well in school.
Before that motivation-killing gadget entered our home, our creative, social kids had a beautiful, rich life. Everything was exciting to them. Playing outside, having friends over, reading, drawing, writing, and fighting over toys (not over the iPad). Now all those activities are “boring.”
Until two days ago, the most popular question in our house was, “Can I play with the iPad?” and they wouldn’t take “No” for an answer. They would ask again and again until you snapped and yelled at them. Then they would throw a massive tantrum (worse than the ones they threw when they were toddlers). The older one complained how unlucky, miserable and boring his life is. The little one cries his lungs out as if he is two years old again. And I start to feel angry and nauseous. The question “Why can’t I play on the iPad?” pushes all my bottons. It makes me MAD.
