Don't let electricity interrupt

There is no passion like that of a functionary for his function.

-- Georges Clemenceau

The cable went out the other night.

The TV with its new converter box flashed some reassuring message such as "Programing will return shortly."

Only it didn't.

"I'll just finish up my school report on the computer," my son said casually.

"Internet's out, too," my wife said grimly with that serious look she gets when the checking account doesn't balance or Grey's Anatomy is pre-empted by a presidential address.

"No computer?" I said slowly, not trying to display any panic.

"Nope," she said.

Not one to take nope for an answer, I slipped upstairs to see if I could poke a few buttons and jiggle some cables.

Sometimes this works. This night it didn't.

I went back downstairs.

"Didn't work did it?" she asked sharply.

I said nothing and sat down. We were all sitting down, trying to remember what we used to do before TV and the computer dominated our home lives.

That's when I realized that every chair, seat and couch in the room was facing the dead TV screen. This must be the way pioneer families used to face the fireplace, I thought.

I also noticed it keeps us from facing each other. It causes the family to focus not on each other, but on a colorful, entertaining box in the corner, which often shows us the interesting challenges of fictional doctors in a Hollywood hospital.

I got a radio out of the closet, but that didn't last.

Radio at night, I discovered, is dominated by frightening talk shows explaining conspiracy theories or "oldies" stations fixated on Foreigner and Tom Petty.

"We could read the paper," I suggested loyally.

"I did that already," said my wife.

"We could go around the room and talk about our day," I offered.

At this my son stood up and said, "I think I'll walk around the neighborhood."

"Stop," I said. "Sit down. We're a family. We need to share and communicate. There are some things more important than watching TV or playing with the computer.

"We need to talk about these things. This is what families do."

It was quiet for a moment. Then my wife nodded. My son, sensing he was now out-voted, slumped back. The little white dog didn't move because I was gently scratching his ears.

I can't tell you what we said. I can't tell you what we shared. I can't tell you what we learned about each other.

That's because we didn't.

Just then, the cable came back on and we naturally went back to watching television.

Those Grey's Anatomy doctors sure lead interesting lives.

Reach Bill Kirby at (706) 823-3344 or bill.kirby@augustachronicle.com.