Plugging into iPods lets us tune out the world

Lori Borgman

Vice President Dick Cheney recently annoyed the national press corps by using an electrical outlet to charge his iPod, loaded with Johnny Cash tunes, when journalists wanted to use the outlet for filing stories in-flight.

The only appropriate thing to say in a situation like that would be, “You rock, Mr. Vice President.”

Through the generosity of my son and daughter-in-law, I suddenly find myself the owner of a sleek iPod nano. I too, now rock.

For some time, I had been the only family member without earphones perpetually glued to my head and cords dangling about my upper body.

The kids have long worn headphones listening to music on CD players or iPods while reading or hanging out, and the husband has worn headphones to listen to ball games while doing yard work.

The main drawback to this headphone connection is that when you want to tell them something, you have to knock them over first to get their attention.

Last weekend we went out to dinner and noticed a mother and her two children a couple of tables over, each connected to electronic devices. They tinkered with their individual gizmos as they waited for their food, as the food arrived, and as they ate their meals.

The only time one of them disconnected was when cheese began sliding off his pizza. Ah, the intimacy of a family dinner.

On a recent airline flight, the head of a gray-haired man several rows in front of me began bobbing back and forth. Soon after his shoulders began gyrating wildly. My seatmate asked if I thought the man was ill. “Perhaps he is having a seizure,” she said.

I craned my neck for a better look. “He’s fine,” I said. “Just listening to an iPod.”

Despite the iPod’s convenience and marvelous sound, I am still searching for that fine line between the socially acceptable and the totally self-absorbed.

I find I am unable to bring myself to wear them at the mall and walk around like all the other zombies locked in a trance. But that’s hardly a surprise; I am not able to wear little belly shirts and low-slung jeans at the mall either.

I tried listening to them in the car. That was fine for a while. But then both the girls had low batteries and were actually talking to one another. So I turned it off, as I didn’t want to miss any conversation.

I wore them on a walk around the neighborhood, but found myself dislodging the earpieces so I could hear the chatter of birds and squirrels, and the sound of any footsteps that might be approaching from behind.

I wore them working in the kitchen while making dinner and that was delightful, marred only by the fact that the smoke detector activated in the middle of B. B. King playing “Bad Case of Love.” I hadn’t heard the buzzer on the oven, and B.B. wasn’t the only thing smokin’ in the kitchen.

I enjoy using the iPod at home very much. As a matter of fact, I am using it right now as I sit at the computer finishing off this column, pondering people who prefer withdrawing into a world of isolationism over engaging the fascinating world around them.

Patsy Cline is singing “Crazy.” '

How very appropriate.

Good guides for parents are in these seven books

Lori Borgman

I was wrapping up a speaking engagement in the Pacific Northwest, selling and signing a few books, a woman approached with my parenting book in hand and asked if it would be a good book for dealing with a rebellious teen.

I told her no, not really. She looked stunned as I took the book from her hands and said her money would be better spent on another book and offered a suggestion.

What I lack in sales and marketing skills, I make up for in resources.

When I was a new mother, my own mother told me I would do well to get my nose out of books and into life. She was right. You don't need a lot of parenting books, but when young families are often miles from the watchful eyes of grandparents and other family members who might actually know something about raising children, now and then a book or two can be very helpful.

For example, if I were an inexperienced mother stranded on a desert island with a dozen spirited children and only allowed one book, it would be a book on how to swim. No, not really. It would be one of two books by Ross Campbell. “How to Really Love Your Child” is a short but all-encompassing guide that refers to a wonderful notion of “filling your child’s love tank.”

“How to Really Love Your Teenager,” by Campbell is more of the same and has an excellent chapter on expressing anger that can easily apply to the entire family, or a small mob on a desert island.

When I left my job to do the full-time mom thing, it was an awkward transition. I missed being with people who could talk, eat food that required utensils and take care of their own bodily needs. “Home by Choice,” by Brenda Hunter, was a wonderful encouragement in making the shift.

If you find your child has more negotiating skills than Condoleezza Rice, open up a copy of James Dobson’s book “The Strong-Willed Child.” You may have to keep this one under lock and key, because when you get it out (and you will, again and again), your kids will know that there are going to be some changes. Dobson is about love, boundaries and consistency.

“Children: The Challenge,” by Rudolf Dreikurs, is a bit outdated and thick enough to double as a door stop, but it is a classic read for learning how to help children link actions with consequences.

John Rosemond says he doesn’t remember his mother ever exclaiming, “these kids are exhausting!” Rosemond says if your kids continually exhaust you, they are too demanding. “Family Building” packages Rosemond’s approach nicely, but it is best to wear thick skin before reading Rosemond. He has a way of making a parent uncomfortable and smarter.

A bookstore used to award points toward book purchases for every A on a child’s report card. When our son was in second grade the bookstore manager informed him that music and art didn't count. I wanted to, well, I wanted to give her a copy of Howard Gardner’s “Frames of Mind: The Theory of Multiple Intelligences.” The book gives insight into the many ways children learn. And for the record, music and art “do count.”

The aforementioned books are either sitting on our bookshelves, or are out on loan. The books are worn, dog-eared and tattered. Books can never take the place of mentors with a wealth of experience, but they can become your very good friends.

Lori is the author of several books including"Pass the Faith, Please: Nourishing Your Child's Soul in the Everyday Moments of Life ." It's not a bad book either.

Step into Wardrobe for moral imagination

Lori Borgman

The current hit movie, “The Chronicles of Narnia,” based on a book by C.S. Lewis, hinges on a magical wardrobe (that’s wardrobe as in closet, not wardrobe as in hordes of clothes). The back of the wardrobe is a portal to a magical land called Narnia.

We have a similar wardrobe standing in the corner of our bedroom. I checked the back wall of our wardrobe moments ago and am sad to report that it is rock solid. It leads to nowhere. Nor does it contain marvelous fur coats like the one in the movie.

When our children were quite young, they watched the BBC serialized version of “The Chronicles of Narnia” on television. After each viewing, they would routinely pad up to our bedroom and check the back of the wardrobe, hoping it would lead to somewhere. Anywhere.

I would hear their footsteps, then the squeak of the wardrobe door as they swung it open. This was followed by a rustling as they batted away pants and dresses hanging in their way, the crash of the shoe rack being knocked over, a brief pause, then the wardrobe door slamming shut. This was followed by loud allegations that their parents were cheap.

“If they bought quality, we might be able to go somewhere besides the backyard!”

“Do we have to be the last kids on the block to do everything?”

The shuffling of feet then ensued, mixed with shouts of, “Who wants the navy pumps?” and “I call the brown wing tips!” If they couldn’t get to Narnia, at least they could play with our dress shoes.

What the kids searched for in the wardrobe then, what kids still search for today, is imagination.

More specifically, the type of imagination they search for -- and the type Lewis excelled at creating is moral imagination.

Imagination frequently has a role in children’s play in everything from building blocks to big lumps of Play-Doh. Imagination also has a dark side, as in games like Grand Theft Auto, the video series where players must imagine which car to steal next, which van to broadside, and which bystander to kill.

Moral imagination is that noble dimension of imagination capable of shaping a conscience. Moral imagination grapples with the complexity of man and engages in the eternal battles between the hero and the coward, good and evil, and right and wrong.

Moral imagination is incompatible with the “everybody wins” philosophy, “all choices are equal,” or “the bad guy is really the good guy.” In moral imagination, there is a firm framework and strong voice of authority. In the case of Narnia, it is the thunderous roar of a lion.

Moral imagination is infused with things that are good, beautiful and true. It is capable of teaching concepts that long have been fading from our radar, things like civic virtue. (Ask your grandfather or your history teacher, they might know.)

Materials that spark the moral imagination of children still exist. Many of them lie beneath the dust of the classics. If you are interested in finding them, the wardrobe is an excellent place to begin.