Just after dark the other night I went for a walk in my quiet established neighborhood. As I passed each house a flickering glow radiated from behind closed doors.

It was a nice night and the sun had just gone down. There was no front porch sittin', no one walking their dog, just the steady flicker of light coming from each home.

Some of the houses had their drapes pulled, some didn't have drapes at all. Some houses had nice manicured lawn, some not so much. There were toys in the drives here and old boats there. But no matter what the differences were, the one constant was - the glow.
I like to imagine what goes on behind the walls of peoples' homes - past the bricks and the frames and the dust and the spiders in their webs and termites and drywall and wallpaper right into the heart of the home.

I want to see what colors they chose for the walls and what the flooring looks like and all the nice touches that make a house a home. I like to see the organization or lack there of. I want to observe if there's clutter or bare starkness or somewhere in between. I love to see a welcoming atmosphere where each occupant's tastes and personality is reflected throughout. I love that plaque that reads,

This is a Home Where Children Live
You may not find things all in place,
Friend, when you enter here,
But, we're a home where children live,
We hold them very dear.
And you may find small fingerprints,
And smudges on the wall,
When the kids are gone, we'll clean them up,
Right now we're playing ball.
For there's one thing of which we're sure,
These children are on loan.
One day they're always underfoot,
Next thing you know, they're gone.
That's when we'll have a well-kept house,
When they're off on their own.
Right now, this is where children live,
A loved and lived-in home.
Author Unknown
* * *

As I gazed at each home on my path, I couldn't help but wonder if all these folk were just mindlessly watching the images flicker in front of them; each lost in the dialog coming from the screen. Was anyone engaged in real conversation? Were families playing board games? Was there laughter and love and human contact?

I read a book once where the family every night would gather around the old oil lamp and although each member was doing his own thing - Mom sewing, Dad paperwork, one boy tinkered, etc. but they were all in the same room and enjoying each other's company. Then they got electric lights and everyone spread out. They went back to the lamp because Mom didn't like how they were drifting apart. Literally and figuratively.

Have we all drifted apart? Is the art of conversation lost? When my 80 year old mother in law gets together with her family they all gather around the table and talk. My parent's in their 60's play card games. My generation watches movies. The younger generation plays Xbox or whatever the newest gaming system is.

With larger and larger homes and a TV in every room, we aren't even in the same room anymore. The kids are off in their Disneyland of a room with their computer, TV, Xbox, Gameboys, cell phones, and a dozen other gadgets only they can understand.

Maybe it's the overcrowding and lack of vacant lots or nearby woods, perhaps it's the report of another abduction on the 6'oclock news, maybe we're too busy running our kids to dance and soccer, but whatever the reason kids aren't out playing. After spending their days being constantly entertained has imagination died?

I was watching piece on 60 minutes early this year entitled Golden Boy Bode Miller. Here is part of the interview - skip to the highlighted parts if you want. I know it's rather lengthy but I really thought it was good and illustrates how his imagination allowed him to be different.

Miller is different. He doesn't train in the ski team's high tech gym, but works out in an old barn on his family's property in New Hampshire. What kind of shape is he in? Bode Miller is characteristically modest. "There's a lot of guys who are in really good shape, but for ski racing there's no question I'm in better shape than most guys," he says. Miller designed the main machine he uses to train and his uncle built it. It looks like a contraption that came out of the Spanish inquisition and it probably would make most people talk.

Miller is not lifting weights; his friend jumping up and down is doing that. He is building his thigh and stomach muscles by squatting down with a load of 320 pounds. The machine looks like the product of a mad inventor. "Like, if you get a good workout, it feels more like a torture device of some sort," says Miller.

Miller's parents said that at one point they were making only $600 a year and that they were living on that. "That might be optimistic," Miller says. "That's including inflation. That would be $600 a year now."

"So many kids who become athletes are the product of parents who are pushing them every minute of the way, who went to every race and didn't give them dinner if they came in second," Simon ( 60 Minutes correspondent Bob Simon) said.

Some days I am disgusted with myself for how much TV my family and I watch. I think of how many other things we could be doing and how our time would be better spent.

I look into my children's eyes and wonder how much innocence is drained from them as their minds are corrupted by images and languages and topics which children have should have no knowledge.

But then I realize - it's Wednesday night and I want to see if Taylor Hicks is the next American Idol!

And like my neighbors all around me, and their neighbors all around them, and neighborhoods surrounding us, and cities around them, and in homes across the entire nation we are lost in the glow of the flickering light.

Well, choose comedy because you Might As Well Smile!

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