Deluge

I should open this piece with the clear acknowledgement that I am fishing in the deep seas of irony, and I don't expect to generate a clear point of view. By typing this rant into a computer and pressing "publish," I am tacitly encouraging the behavior about which I am about to complain. Here it goes: I miss seeing my son's eyes.
Because of the stream of information that swirls about him each and every day, he feels compelled to tap into that vortex at every free moment. This includes what I would recognize as "family time." Texts, e-mails, pictures and all manner of important messages are coming his way at a rate he has long since stopped trying to comprehend. If there is a Facebook update or a picture of a kitty that stacks up, it could lead to information overload, and then we might all be made to suffer. How, exactly, is unclear to me.
I also know that I brought my son up in a household that was full of media outlets: cable TV, DVDs, VCRs, e-mails, video games, and yes even books. Long before he ever generated his first password, my son could get lost in a book. There was a Calvin and Hobbes book on the back seat of our car, as well as the breakfast table, and another one clutched tightly in his hand. Many was the time when we would have to interrupt a reverie brought on by killer snowmen or the transmogrifier to bring our son back to the conversation about what we would all do that weekend. We gave him access. Should we be surprised when he used it?
I am aware that this makes me a crabby old man. Kids these days, typing with their thumbs, not using proper grammar and sending other people's pictures to heaven knows where. Crab, crab, crab. I know that part of this whining stems from jealousy. I know that I struggle to keep up with the messages in my inbox and have chosen to keep my friends in the real world rather than dive into the book of Face. I take pride in the notion that I can still name all my friends. So can my son, if he reads the header on his messages. Sometimes I miss my friend - my son.