Dear Millennial Mom,
I realize that I am more than twice your age and might not know what’s going on. I admit that I don’t even own a smart phone. Maybe if they sold wise phones I might buy one. At 60 years old, I grew up during the time when phones were stuck to the walls, you needed to buy film for your camera, and computers were monstrous machines hidden in IBM basements.
I want to ask you to please put your phone away.
This letter is written after deep reflection. My need for you to put your phone away culminated when we met after the Christmas Eve service. I was so happy to see you and meet your two-month-old son. Last time we met, you were preparing for his birth. I was delighted to see his head covered in dark curls. He was sleeping soundly despite the festivities around us. Your husband was so proud. I bent over the little one in his stroller and marveled at his creamy skin and calm breath. Baby’s fingernails have always fascinated me. Like tiny rose petals topped with a perfect quarter moon. I gently brushed his cheek and whispered hello.
And then you dug into your purse and whipped out your phone. You had to show me pictures of your son right after his birth. Photo after photo slid across the small screen, which I can’t really see because I have become farsighted. You wanted me to marvel at his pictures. I wanted to marvel at your son.