Companions

A child who only has an A.I. to play with, to interact with, to answer ALL his questions from school, from life, because the mom is WAY too busy, working on HER things, translated…

Inside the study, the rows of books are orderly, neatly stacked, my son disliked how this small space, with that majestic feeling, that overpowered him, he’d often done his homework assignments on the breakfast tables.  He’d done his homework, while telling me about his day at school, this was our daily lives, so simple, like the fairytales.

Last year I’d taken on a teaching plan, I’d had problems writing out my lesson plans, and my son’s words had often caused me to lose focus, and, my lesson plans were so fragmented, and, the cursor on my laptop just, swam all over the places.  “Is it okay if mom goes into the study to work?”, I’d pointed to the study next to the dining room, my son shook his head, I’d suppressed my strong sense of guilt, told him that I’d just, moved my place of work to the next room, that he could make a sound if something happened, and I’ll be right there next to him.

He’d come knocking on the doors once every minute, said he was hungry, that he couldn’t write, and, I was already, taxed out completely, and told him, that he’d had to, handle things himself.  And, as my son’s tactics didn’t work, he’d turned back disappointed to the breakfast tables, and played with his Lego blocks.  Two hours later I’d opened up the door of the study, he’d, rushed up to me, gave me a huge hug, called aloud, “Mommy!”, it’d caused my heart to ache.

with this huge cell phone that blocks the mother and the son now…illustration from the papers online

As I shut the doors to do my work, I’d, struggled, I’d often heard my son outside getting a glass of water, flipping through the pages of the books; and from time to time, it would be dead silent outside, I’d flown into a panic, opened up the door, and, as the light from my study entered into the dining room floor, I saw my son, talking to his stuffed animals.  He’d turned his head, hollered at me, “it’s over?”, his voice, and eyes, they all lit up; I’d shut the door, to cover up my own thoughts, and asked him to keep on playing with his toys.

The days passed by in and outside the doors.  My son entered into the first grade, his English pronunciation needed to be recorded down on my cell, and his speaking lessons were to get sent to the instructors, I’d only taught him how to operate the phones twice, and he’d become, an expert at it.  The door separated the two of us, working hard away, he’d stopped calling out “mom” anymore, instead, I’d heard his uplifted tone calling “Siri” (the A.I. app on my cell).

~~Siri, help me with homework next time.

~~I’m sorry, that’s not included in my services, and I’m busy.

~~What are you doing, Siri?

~~I’m working, I still have 604,978 years to work.

~~You’re JUST as busy as mom.

At the end of the sentence, I’d silenced myself, from wanting to stop him from playing with my cell phone.  I’d recalled how a few days ago when I picked him up from school, he was sent to the counselor’s office for pushing someone for splashing some water onto him, and was punished by his teacher.  I’d thought of how we’d been interacting, how he’d used to, want to hug me as his form of expressions, he’d no longer opened his arms wide to me like he used to, instead, he’d, puffed up the windows and started drawing on it; I’d hugged him close, and that child in my arms struggled, “it’s so uncomfortable”.  The outside of the windows is grayed, the grasses, the trees, the buildings, including my mood too, were draped under the fog now.

I’d swallowed my grilling him for playing with my cell phone, sat beside him as he’d done his homework, wanted to ask him about what happened after he’d pushed that classmate, and expected that he would call out to me, to ask me questions about his assignments.  My son had already, set up his own small universe, he’d searched for the vocabulary terms he couldn’t understand on his own by using the cell phones, I’d wanted to offer him the help, he’d told me lightly, that cell phone can answer all his questions, and that was when I’d realized, that all I’d needed to do, for the past year, was signing his assignment books.

I’d asked him about the goings on at school, and he’d only said, “hmmmmmmmmmmmm.”, then fell silent again, and I’d, run out of words to say to him, he’d pressed down on that round button on the cell phone, called out, “Siri”.

——Would Santa come this year?

——I’d heard that he only comes when you’re asleep.

——I’m so bored, can you play with me?

——When you do something a day passes, when you do nothing, a day also passes, I’m always here with you.

The two of us sat in the dining room, but we’re, more like a threesome now, the way my son talks to his cell phone, it’s, as if, he was, talking to Siri, and Siri was a real person.

And so, it’s, too late, for you, to REVERSE the interaction styles you’d already, established, because your son learned that he shouldn’t bother his mom because she’s doing something more important, and maybe, your paper is important, but it shouldn’t be more important than your own young, and yet, you’d not set your priorities straight, and so, your son had, drifted from you now.