About 30 years ago, I worked at the most famous newspaper in the world as a news assistant at the main news desk, where my chief responsibility was to answer the phone and answer it as quickly as possible. Or so I assumed. A few days into the job, I was absorbing an order from one of the paper’s top editors, someone who could be famously brusque and cutting, but also warm and generous, when the phone started to ring (and I could see it was another top editor) and I made the administrative decision to answer–much to the obvious dismay of the editor before me. When I got off, before I could even explain what it was about, he told me something that I’m sure he told a hundred news assistant before me.
“Flesh before plastic,” he said. End of story. For all my mortal failings, I would certainly never make that mistake again.
Which brings me to 12-year-old son, who, like many kids raised in digital age puts plastic before flesh all the time.
Lately, as I’ve mentioned in an earlier post, I’ve had to spend a lot of time with my son in the hospital because of his stomach pains. I can write about it because Adam’s pains don’t seem to be rooted in anything deeply worrisome. Still, there’s been enough drama that we’re now treated like old friends by the nurses and doctors at the pediatric ER.
When you’re a parent, there’s nothing like seeing a skilled pediatrician examine your child in a way that puts them at ease, makes them feel special and understood, and an important part of the process of getting better. The last attending we saw was a master at connecting with kids. It’s the ER–who knows how many things he was juggling?—but once he walked in our room and started talking with Adam, it was the only room in the world and Adam was the only child.
“Dr. L——, Please pick up line one,” a business-like voice called out to him over the intercom.
I looked at him. Adam looked at him.
He said to Adam: “There’s a phone call, but that person can wait or call back. Right now, you and I are talking.”
Flesh before plastic. The ultimate example. Presumably if it was a bigger emergency, one of his colleagues would have come to get him.
I’m dismayed by my sense that my children have let all things electronic fill up all the time of their lives (expect for when we have no-use rules).
After the doctor left the room, I couldn’t leave what happened unacknowledged. I asked Adam if he noticed how the doctor made him the priority over the phone call. He said he did. I probably shouldn’t have asked. I got the lesson 30 years ago. I could see that Adam had appreciated the gesture. That’s the seed of knowing better.
Eric Messinger is the editor of New York Family. He can be reached at [email protected]
