Turns out that smartphones have ruined us. Maybe not baby boomers so much, but smartphones have had an adverse effect on us as well. According to a boatload of different studies, many of the skills we had have bitten the dust. Here’s a sampling.

Great Memory – We used to know other people’s phone numbers and addresses. Now, we’re lucky if we can recall our own. Excessive screen time (you’re watching TV while scrolling on your phone – we all do it now) has a negative affect on cognitive ability, memory, concentration and focus.

Reading Social Cues – Boomers grew up with many face-to-face experiences. Our ability to read body language helped us to make friends in-person, and feel comfortable in social situations and job interviews. Younger generations avoid in-person interaction and hide behind those little screens.

Focus – Growing up before smartphones came along, we were able to be more productive when it came to truly concentrating on a task. That was before a harmless notification “ding” could sabotage whatever we were trying to focus on and drop everything to check on who was contacting us.

Patience – It should be obvious, but the immediacy of smartphones has killed our ability to wait things out. It’s a now world now. We have to respond ASAP to every email and text.

Silence – We were capable of sitting in solitude without external stimuli but younger generations raised on smartphones have no clue what that was like.

Entertaining oneself – We had no choice. There were often times when reading a book or taking a walk was a far better experience than checking in on Facebook.

Great handwriting – We’ve been here before. There’s hardly anyone left who can write longhand (or knows what that word means).

Independent thinking – There was a time when we came to our opinions based on discussion and debate along with a healthy serving of news. Social media promotes a groupthink that stifles original thought.

Delayed gratification – Social media is in the moment so what’s the point of waiting to do something if you can have it NOW.

Storytelling – Sure, there is storytelling on line, but it’s not the same as face to face sharing that can bond people together.

Resourcefulness – It’s just too hard to ignore the allure of social media when that distraction is so tempting. Boomers had to overcome problems and develop a routine on their own, without cribbing ideas off the internet.

The bottom line is that we may have been better off in terms of intellectual and personal development, but we’re just as vulnerable when it comes to the harm a life lived on top of smartphone can do. It could be time to put it down for a whole day and see what happens (after you get over the panic of not knowing where it is).

Jay Harrison is a writer and creative consultant for DesignConcept. His newest mystery novel, Rio Puerco Demise is available on Amazon. His first mystery novel, Head Above Water, is also available on Amazon. But that’s not all. You can also purchase the Best of BoomSpeak on Amazon.

I’ve seen her walk by our beach lately. Probably a neighbor. She looks like Barbie would look, twenty-five years later. She must have realized I was watching and smiled a ‘you’re a safe old-fart smile’ at me.

She squats in the gravel windrow along the shoreline to grab a shot of the roiling surf. Probably using her cell phone to show all her ‘best friends forever.’ I shake my head. Why do I dismiss her, not take her seriously? Could it be her resemblance to the iconic doll? Her multiple toe rings, nails painted with little American flags

Stop it, I tell myself. What makes me so special? Me, who could be her father, and she who could have my grandkids? Am I that prejudiced, that simple-minded in my evaluation of people? What does she have to do, use five syllable words to impress me? Show me her diploma?

I ease out of my beach chair to join her. As I get closer I can see that she is using a DSLR with a zoom lens. Huh. I stand behind her a moment as she brackets ten shots. Digital cameras! You can just shoot and shoot and shoot, but you still have to edit sometime, go through every shot and cull the best. Might as well do it beforehand. God, I sound like some old duffer… ‘why back in my day…’

“Hi,” she says, holding up her camera, “want to see what I shot?”
I have to admit I’m impressed. It’s a kind of rolling contact sheet. “Very nice,” I say. “You’ve got a good eye. Although a couple of these could be framed a smidge better.”

“Do you shoot?”

“Yeah, I used to. I was a hospital photographer before everything was digital and you had to wait two days to see what you got.”

“Oh, man, I sure could use some coaching.”

“You don’t need much. You’ve got some great shots there.”

“But what did you mean about ‘framing’?”

“Oh, you know, the old law of thirds.”

“Ah, from art history classes,” she says. “Composition. I never thought to apply it to photography. Show me which shots you meant.”

Soon we are sitting on a driftwood log and I’m drawing diagrams in the sand and taking pictures to illustrate concepts. There were times in my youth when exploring exposures with an attractive woman would’ve taken a different slant. But at my age, this is as good as it’s going to get. And I was even invited to be her friend online…huh!

Retired trainer, and writing instructor, Joe Novara lives in Kalamazoo, Michigan. Writings include novels, short stories, a memoir and various poems, plays, anthologies and articles. Read more at https://freefloatingstories.wordpress.com/

At the start of second grade in 1963, yo-yos and tops were popular. My father showed me how to make the yo-yo sleep by loosening the string, letting it spin above ground, and then snapping it back up. I could Walk the Dog but lacked the skill and technique for tricks like Around the World and Rock the Baby.

I loved the top. An older boy on the next block showed me how to wind the string around the bottom and whip it toward a flat surface like the linoleum floor in our kitchen. It would spin and move around. I became proficient and took my top to school. Kids would spin tops in a big locker room at ground level during recess, lunch, and before school started. The floor was hard and smooth, with lots of room.

One day, two older boys bragged that they could spin tops and run around the school building, returning while the top was still spinning. One approached me and said he thought I was a good spinner for my age and why don’t I try spinning my top and running around the school. He told me he bet it would still be spinning when I got back and that he would watch my top so the other kids wouldn’t take it.

That’s all it took. I was hooked, and all they had to do now was reel me in. I whipped that top as I’d never whipped it, tore out the doorway, and started running around the school. I wasn’t the fastest runner, but that day, I felt like the wings of Mercury were on my feet. When I returned to the locker room, the two boys had left, and my top was nowhere to be seen. After I got my wind and sat down to rest, it became clear my top was gone, probably for good. I was madder at myself for falling for the scam than I was at them. The next time I saw the two cons, I asked for my top back, but they acted like I didn’t know what I was talking about. My mother noticed the absence of my top spinning on our kitchen floor and asked me what happened to it. I just told her I’d lost it, and that was the truth.

I eventually mastered ‘Around the World,’ but ‘Rock the Baby’ came much later.

William P Adams lives in the Pacific Northwest, writing short fiction inspired by his childhood in the 1960s. His stories have appeared in Macrame Lit and Rockvale Review.

Our book group used to gather once a month for discussion followed by dinner and wine. But of course, aging has pushed us to find technological alternatives: aka ZOOM and dinner on our own. Turns out, there’s nothing wrong with ZOOM. It just that we see too little and too much.

Too much—For example, if one of us has a laptop pointed up, we see nostrils, huge looming nostrils, as if we were at the dentist. Unhappy association. Also, we forget that we’re not on a telephone and others can watch us primping and puckering as we study our image on the screen like it was a mirror. And cats can scooch up to stare in the screen. Not to mention someone’s partner whisking by with a bath towel around her head. TMI…Too Much Information.

Too little—we only see each other’s faces but not our feet. Feet can tell a lot. They’re like a ‘tell’ to a serious poker player. I learned that as a kid sleeping on a mat in the dining room of our tiny house. I could lie there and watch the feet of our neighbors as they played cards in the kitchen. I could tell who had a good hand. Who was going to fold. Who was bluffing. And now, when our group gets together, sitting in each other’s living rooms, I’m back in my childhood home, reading the crowd.

Pete’s feet line up like a perfectly attentive student at his desk but his fingers are drumming on his knees…bored. When Mary Lou shuffles her feet back and forth, you can tell she is all excited and can’t wait to jump in with a new-old idea we’ve all heard before. Matt crosses his feet at the ankles. Eyes closed, he folds his arms on his chests a pose he might have learned in his yoga class. His right foot gives him away. The closer we get to dinner, the more his foot waggles in anticipation of his urge to dig in. Janet wears slacks. Just as well, because it would look bad if she wore a dress. As a discussion drones on, she invariably drifts off, her eyes stay open but her knees flop apart in complete relaxation.

So, yeah, it’s good to see our buddies online. Say hi and exchange ideas. ZOOM’s better than nothing. But there’s so much more to notice and share in person.

Retired trainer, and writing instructor, Joe Novara lives in Kalamazoo, Michigan. Writings include novels, short stories, a memoir and various poems, plays, anthologies and articles. Read more at https://freefloatingstories.wordpress.com/

I pile up clothes, shoes, mail, jewelry, bits of paper with reminders. I bring a water bottle and a snack and pack everything in my tote. I’m not going on a road trip, I’m just going upstairs. When you age out of multi-level living, this is how you travel. Every time you head for the basement or go upstairs to the bedroom, it’s a trip. I keep a canvas tote on the steps and fill it during the course of the day so when I do make that climb, I won’t forget anything and only have to do it once.

When I get upstairs, I’m unpacking my tote, putting things away, and organizing. Then I go from room to room gathering things I need to bring downstairs, and I refill my tote. Don’t want to forget anything because my knees can’t deal with more than one trip.

Same with the basement. I check the kitchen for low stock on things I’ll need — our backup pantry is in the basement. For this I have a bigger tote, which makes me wish I had a bell boy to carry it, especially on days I’m maneuvering the laundry hamper up the steps, too.

Multi-level living when you’re on the road to old age is a trip.

If I forget to take the clean clothes out of the dryer, I make do with what’s around on the first floor when I get out of the shower. Though I may look like I grabbed anything within reach to run from a burning building, I’m just trying to cover my nakedness to watch an hour or so of TV before making the trip upstairs for bed. I need my rest to arm myself for the next day’s ups and downs.

I wonder if an architect could design a house that works like a Lazy Susan. I stay put, and when I need something, I slide the wall, and the rooms move to bring my need within reach. Not only would I not have to climb steps, but I’d never even have to leave the chair. I haven’t seen anything like this yet. You’re welcome, HGTV.

So, for the time being, I’ll keep my tote bags handy, will look like a fabric collage when I get out of the shower, and switch my menu rather than make a trip downstairs if I’m out of olive oil.

Maureen Mancini Amaturo lives in Rye, NY