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I was thinking back to when I was a kid. Weekends, in particular, hold so many memories. I remember the feeling of anticipation right before the TV would come on. There was this song, “The Log” somecartoon man was log rolling . I think it was called, but my memory’s a bit hazy on the name. I remember the tune, though. It was this strange little ritual. The sound would fill the room, and then, like clockwork, the screen would light up with the National Anthem, and the TV day would officially begin. And that was it – the moment when you knew the weekend had arrived.

We’d start off with programming like church services or shows like Tiny Talent Time—a show I absolutely loved. There was this charm about it, the kids on TV showing off their talents. Or there were quirky shows like Romper Room where the host, Julie, would say, “I see John, I see Sally,” and I would always hope she’d say my name. She never did, but it was still a thing. I could feel the connection, the sense of community, even if it wasn’t personal.

And of course, the Flintstones came on at lunch. That was the highlight. The whole neighborhood knew that when Fred and Barney were on, it was time for a break. But it wasn’t just about TV—it was about the rhythm of the day. The TV would go off eventually, and when the screen showed rainbow bars and the national anthem played, that was the signal. The TV was done for the day. It wasn’t a big deal. Nobody freaked out. You just turned it off and went outside. It was the natural thing to do.

If we ever got too caught up in watching TV and my mom didn’t like it, she’d just yell, “Go outside and play!” No negotiation, no begging for just five more minutes. You went outside. And that was fine. It was expected. We didn’t live for the next show or the next episode. We had bikes to ride, friends to play with, games to invent. There was something real about it all.

What stands out to me today is how differently we live now. People losing their minds over being cut off from their Instagram or YouTube accounts—it’s wild when you think about it. We used to survive just fine without all this instant connection. When my mom wanted us to stop watching TV, she’d just march over and turn it off. And we didn’t pitch a fit. We didn’t feel like we were missing out on some great thing happening on a screen somewhere. We just went outside. And for some reason, that was enough.

We weren’t obsessed with what was on TV, we were too busy living our own stories. We played hopscotch, double dutch, or invented our own games with a ball and a sock—remember Orange Crush? A game where you bounce a ball in a sock against a wall to a catchy jingle. Those were the days. We didn’t need to be plugged into a screen to enjoy life. The screen was just a side note, not the main event.

But now? Now it seems like everything is about being connected online. Kids are so attached to their devices, and if they lose access, it’s as if the world has ended. It makes me wonder about the future. Are we getting to a point where we’d rather watch life happen than actually participate in it? Where the thrill of an outdoor game of tag with the whole neighborhood is a thing of the past?

I really hope that, one day, outside becomes fashionable again. I hope kids will rediscover the joy of playing outside, of feeling the breeze, of making memories with friends in the real world, not just through a screen. Because that’s how we stayed healthy. That’s how we stayed connected. We weren’t glued to our phones, we were out in the fresh air, riding bikes, playing games, and even collecting pop bottles to trade for Mr. Big Freezies or 27-cent bags of Hostess chips. Those little moments made up the fabric of our childhood.

Times have certainly changed. I mean, 27 cents for chips? Wow. But regardless, I still believe there’s something to be said for getting outside. The internet, our devices—they’re all fine and good, but they’re not the source of true connection. If anything, they pull us in and keep us isolated. If we want to get back to real connection, we need to go outside, interact with people face-to-face, and remember how to talk, really talk, with each other.

Because here’s the thing: emojis will never replace the warmth of a genuine smile. Text messages can’t convey the depth of a real conversation. We need to feel each other’s emotions, not just read them on a screen. Real connection, real feelings—that’s what matters. And I’ll always remember how excited I was to go outside as a kid. How my heart would break when I was grounded and couldn’t play. That feeling is something we should never lose.

So here’s to hoping that one day, we’ll reconnect with the outside world, not just the digital one. I hope we’ll remember that life is meant to be lived, not watched.

One love on the journey, and blessings.

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