Happy (Offline) Thanksgiving

My dad is determined to make this Thanksgiving Day analog.

Weeks ago, he warned us that he intends to ban the use of electronic devices in his home throughout the holiday festivities. He's determined to force human interaction among the 11 humans who plan to gather there. He is serious.

Luckily, the ban does not extend to all electronics invented since the pilgrims landed. Televised football, thankfully, will still be allowed. And I won't be digging a fire pit to cook the turkey.

Instead, he's taking aim at the our hand-held video games, smart phones and laptop computers that seem to do a fine job of isolating us even when we're all together.

I think he feels a little like Smithsonian magazine columnist Ted Gup, who wrote in October, “I see we've created a nation of zombies-heads down, thumbs on tiny keyboards, mindless millions staring blankly, shuffling toward some unseen horizon. To them, the rest of us are invisible.” Huh? Wasn't listening. Got a text.

Anyway, this will not be easy, especially for my brother and sister-in-law's four children, ranging in ages from 15 to 22. But, frankly, other than my 5- and 8-year-old daughters, we all have computers and BlackBerrys and iPods. It's not unusual for several of us to be sitting in the same room with the silence broken only by the clicking of keys and keypads. And, in reality, we've never exactly been a chatty clan.

I'm as bad as anyone. I mean, what would happen if I failed to check my Google Reader news feed? Stories would pile up. Developments would develop. And I wouldn't know about it. Gasp.

Now, along with worrying that I cook the bird well enough to make sure no one gets poisoned, we'll also have to watch for bouts of nomophobia. That's an “exaggerated, inexplicable and illogical fear of being without a mobile device, power source or service area,” according to the urban dictionary.

They call this quest to balance offline courtesy with our technological cravings “netiquette.” For example, if a tipsy relative says something outrageous at the dinner table, it's really bad form to share it instantly by posting the video to Facebook.

But I do understand the message my dad is sending.

This is our first Thanksgiving since my mother died, and it really frosts him now to think about all the precious time we wasted with our noses in our phones and computers. That's time we can't get back, and he wants to drive that point home this year.

He's right. So I'll put down my BlackBerry and pick up a drumstick.

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