Simon spends most of his free time at his computer. It also serves as a significant portion of his social interaction with kids he's met through school. Sometimes it's hard to pull him off the machine for things like dinner and bedtime, and I feel like we need to limit his time or take it from him as a consequence for certain behaviors. But most of the time, I can't.
When I was in junior high (middle school, as they call it now), every minute that I could get behind those IBM PCjr's unleashed dopamine storms. At one point, I decided I'd ask the math teacher if I could take one home for the summer, and just the idea of that happening kept me awake at night. I never got to take home the machine, but I did get to take home a pristine BASIC manual that was in a 3-ring binder inside of a box. I read every page. A year later my dad gave me an 8-bit Atari computer that he scored for watching a time share presentation or something, and the year after that, my step-dad was given an Apple II+ for his "early retirement." I didn't get my own PC until I started working at a CompUSA after college.
I found so much comfort, alone, sitting in front of the screen. It kept my mind off of everything that I didn't like about myself, my worries, my fears, and at times feelings of loneliness. It was a place where I was in control, and could do exactly what I wanted. It was a quiet retreat from places that I didn't feel I fit in. I was resentful toward the adults that didn't understand my obsession for computers as a kid. As an adult, the truth is that I still find solace sitting with that machine. The habits aren't even that different, as sometimes it involves writing code, sometimes it's games. I still feel the loneliness at times, too, when I'm alone some nights.
All of this context is the reason that I find it hard to be critical about Simon's screen time. I think I'd be a shitty parent if I treated his safe activity the way some people did mine as a kid. I get him, even if I get annoyed that I have to call him three times for dinner. If he feels that same sense of excitement, the way that I sometimes do, I can't deny him of that when other aspects of life are difficult. The cold bits of metal and plastic impossibly offer the feelings of a warm blanket, metaphorically speaking.
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