A Glimpse from an Alternate Universe
Where kids and families yearn for reality, not technology
Imagine a world, not so far from our own, where children grow up forcibly tethered to screens.
In this alternate universe, the default is digital. Kids are told from birth that the world outside is “unsafe”—a vague, theoretical danger lurking in the air, in touch, in presence.
Their friends exist as pixelated faces on phones and laptops. Sports? Only through the twitch of a controller, skiing down virtual slopes or tackling opponents in a digital football arena. Dating? A swipe on a screen, a heart emoji, a carefully curated avatar. Schools are sterile Zoom grids, and “outside” is a forbidden word, replaced by the hum of devices and the glow of LED screens. Fresh air? That’s what air purifiers are for. Touch? Too risky. Life is lived through a keyboard, a headset, a virtual reality rig.
In this world, kids dream not of new apps or faster Wi-Fi, but of something radical. Something whispered about in hushed tones: reality. They yearn to feel the crunch of snow under their boots, to high-five a friend without a lag, to smell the piney breeze on a forest trail. But it’s forbidden, locked away by the rules of a society that prizes “safety” above all else.
Then, one day, a maverick inventor unveils a miracle: a way to make the world safe. A breakthrough—let’s call it the “Freedom Protocol”—neutralizes the mysterious threat.
Suddenly, kids can step outside, touch the world, live in it. The news spreads like wildfire across their digital feeds. They gather in virtual chatrooms, wide-eyed, typing furiously: “Wait, you mean I can actually ski down a mountain? With my own legs?” “I can hug my best friend? Like, feel the actual warmth of the sun?” “I can ride a roller coaster, feel the wind whip my hair, scream with my own voice?” “I can kick a real soccer ball, not just mash buttons?”
The world erupts in wonder!
Kids ditch their smartphones, their VR headsets, their laptops—relics of a suffocating past. They flood the streets, laughing, running, tumbling into grass that’s softer than any pixel could render. They join pickup basketball games, skin scraping real pavement. They climb trees, scrape knees, and discover the electric thrill of a first handshake, a first dance, a first splash in a real lake.
Schools open as bustling hubs of chaos and chatter, not silent grids of faces on screens. The air smells alive—earthy, crisp, unfiltered. Technology, once their only window to the world, gathers dust in forgotten corners.
In this universe, kids and their parents don’t see screens as progress. They see them as prison bars. The allure of “connection” through devices pales against the raw, messy joy of a real-world tackle, a shared laugh, a sunset you don’t need a filter to love. They ask their parents, incredulous, “Why did you think screens were better? Why was this—living, touching, breathing—considered dangerous?” The adults shrug, mumbling about safety protocols and old fears, but the kids just run faster, climb higher, live louder.
Thought of the Day: If screens were the default, the original cage, kids wouldn’t worship them as progress—they’d beg to break free. In our world, we call virtual connection a “technological advance,” but maybe it’s backwards. Maybe the real marvel is the crunch of leaves underfoot, the warmth of a friend’s hand, the ache of muscles after a real game. What if we’re the ones in the alternate universe, seduced by screens, forgetting that the truest connection is the one we can touch? Let’s step outside and remember.
The 70s and 80s. Those of us old enough to remember have the advantage of the before vs. after comparison.
I remember the family turmoil; the school bullies; the personal angst; the heartbreak; all of that, yes. At the time, those seemed to dominate my being.
But there was also YMCA Camp Latimer and the lake; skateboarding with friends; pitching the baseball in the yard; trips to Tennessee with my grandparents; catching lightning bugs among the southern pines; and people and places that had always been there, and seemed they would be there forevermore (but weren't).
All those experiences, during a time when records were kept only on paper, or microfiche. All the stupid things I said and did, of which there is no record, only my memory that will perish with me.
It all seems golden now.
This imagined story has been filmed, several times, with slight variations.
The most recent one is “The Island” (2005, https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0399201). Instead of addictive screens, the movie uses an imprinted imagined vision of the life to which everyone should aspire (as in MLM propaganda), or the Island. Unreachable, as each valuable promised land should be, obviously, but available to the chosen few through a “lottery”.
The transition from the current existence to the transfer to the Island and the life there are not shown to the longing population - which is exactly how we are being played with the ideas like space travel, Moon landings, and space “conquest” (in a macro scale) or everything smaller than the optical microscope can show (in a micro scale).
In all these scenarios, one thing is common: the population needs a “dream” to pursue. Like “freedom”, “independence”, “ecology”, “net zero” or “0.1 degree temperature decrease”.