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"  There were three of them, all boys, all with their faces buried into their hand-held video games. They sat at a table with three hot dogs and three piles of fries in the food court at the mall on a Saturday night, while their mother fussed with their little sister&amp;#039;s shoes. Nobody was talking to each other. I admit that I cringed. Though my son, still in his soccer uniform and leaving a restaurant with me, loves his video games, he&amp;#039;s never brought his out to dinner with us. It simply never occurred to him, and I like to think that I had something to do with that. At the very least, I like to think that he prefers to talk to me than to capture Pok\u00E9mon, or whatever the heck he does on that thing. I watched the three boys, around 7 to 9-years-old, effectively ignoring each other, and I fast-forwarded the scene a few years in my head. This time, they buried their faces in their cell phones as they texted people - perhaps even each other. And still, nobody was talking to each other. Again, I cringed. Yet I love technology. I love our Wii and my PDA and the Internet. I love connecting with people on Twitter and Facebook, and I love playing Guitar Hero with the kids. I love technology. After all, I&amp;#039;m a blogger. And it would be hypocritical for me to suggest that we all drop our electronics and raise our kids like the Amish do. But there&amp;#039;s something about technology creeping out of the house and into our cars, our meals and our time together that rubs me the wrong way. When a neighbor drove my son home from a playdate one afternoon, I noticed that the kids were all in the back seat, watching SpongeBob on the drop-down screen. And I thought Can&amp;#039;t they just ride in the car for five minutes without being placated by a video? Can&amp;#039;t they just talk to each other? Then again, I was on the beach this weekend when my brother answered a text message I&amp;#039;d sent him an hour earlier. I had been trying to remember the lyrics to an old camp song. &amp;quot;In Glory, Glory Hallelujah, what comes after &amp;#039;teacher hit me with a ruler&amp;#039;?&amp;quot; I&amp;#039;d asked. He replied, &amp;quot;A lawsuit.&amp;quot; I laughed out loud and shared his answer with my friends. Perhaps, that time anyhow, burying my face in my electronics actually brought together the people around me. It actually got us talking instead of shutting everyone up. That Saturday night, as my son and I passed through the food court at the mall, I glanced at the mom of those three boys. She looked tired, as though she&amp;#039;d just wrangled four kids through Sears on a Saturday night. Silently, she ate her French fries and stared off into the distance, while her sons played their games in peace. But I wonder how much it&amp;#039;ll cost them in the long run. "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
<http://www.goodhousekeeping.com/life/parenting/a22300/the-high-cost-of-technology-at/?src=shelter_footer>