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“Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“Why can’t I have a smartphone? All the other kids do,” he complains.
“Because smartphones are bad for kids.”
“But if smartphones are so bad how come all the other parents allow their kids to have them?”
“What does it matter what other people do?” I ask gently. “If something is wrong, it is wrong, and you shouldn’t do it.”
“I don’t understand what is so wrong about it. I just want to play some games, talk to my friends.”
“Tomorrow when you go to school, I want you to watch your friends while they are on the phone. I want you to watch their faces. You see them staring at their screen with a vacant expression in their faces. Do you know why that is?”
He stares at me, his eyes as blue as mine. Only they have not seen the horrors I have.
“No,” he replies sulkily.
“Because they are in a literal state of hypnosis as they automatically and mindlessly browse and scroll while losing track of time and the world around them. Each additional daily hour of screen time increases the child’s risk of becoming addicted, or even affecting his or her long term mental health.”
“But, Dad. I only want to use it for short periods. I promise I won’t use it for ages and ages like the other kids. I don’t want to be the only one who doesn’t have one.”
“Okay. So you’ll only use it for a short time. During that short time you are in a state of hypnosis, who and what is going to have a direct line into your head?”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you think what you have on the net comes out of nowhere? It is produced by corporations that are only interested in profit. They do not care for you. In fact, they want you to become addicted so you will keep on browsing mindlessly for the rest of your life.”
“Don’t the other parents know that?” he asks.
I shrug. “Some do and don’t care because they want a bit of peace, others have no idea they are not only giving amoral corporations direct access to their children, but also allowing them to shape their young minds into whatever they want.”
“Yeah, but I’m the only one who doesn’t have one,” he mutters, looking gloomily at his feet.
“I know it’s hard for you, but you know, you’re not like all the other kids, right? You have to be ready for when they come for you.”
He lifts his head and looks at me. I feel my heart break at the expression on his face. He just wants to be a kid, but he can’t because we are one of the hidden thirteen bloodlines of intergenerational wealth families the conspiracy theorists talk about. For hundreds of years we have ruled from the shadows until I stepped out. Said no. They still want my son. They will come for him and he must be ready to stand up to them or they will destroy him.
“Yeah, I know,” my son says sadly.
“Good. I love you, my dear, dear son and I will give up my life to protect you. Always remember that.”
He smiles. “Smartphones are stupid anyway.”
I ruffle his silky hair. He gets that from his mother. “That’s my boy. Shall we go practice some Jiu Jitsu?”
He jumps off the desk eagerly. “Okay, Dad.”
Raine
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b_zHQ6kFuQ0
The Power Of Love
* * *
We travel during the night and arrive in Amalfi in the afternoon. The sky is azure and the sun is a white in the sky, and I can taste the salt of the ocean in the air. I instantly fall in love with the town with its cobblestone streets and its colorful houses. It is picture postcard pretty.
Our hotel is small and cute. It is also very old fashioned. Once you step through the wooden doors into the cool air inside, it is like you have gone back in time. Or stepped into the movie set of Casablanca. We walk to the reception where a portly man in a waistcoat checks us in by writing our names with a fountain pen into a narrow book. Then he hands over a large metal key with a yellowing paper tag on which the room number is written in ink.
Talk about old-fashioned.
The bellhop, a chatty boy in his teens, shows us to our room. As Konstantin tips him, I walk over to the window. To my surprise, I realize the hotel is actually at the edge of a cliff. There is a sheer drop below to the sea. The ocean sparkles in the sunlight.
I hear the door close and turn around. “Why this hotel?”
“Because the walls are so thick no one can hear you scream,” he teases.
I grin. “And the other reason?”
“There is no internet or surveillance cameras.”
“Ah, right.”
“Do you feel like having Italian ice cream?”
“What kind of question is that? Of course, I do.”
