No, I Won’t Use an e-Reader by Mark Rubinstein

No, I Won’t Use an e-Reader



Let me begin by saying I love books, whether electronic or paper. I’ll read on my Kindle or a “regular” book. Frankly, I’ll read on whatever’s available. I just love reading and being transported to another world beyond my own. It’s pleasurable to share the domain the writer has created. It’s a realm to which I bring my own thoughts, feelings, fantasies and experiences, all of which no doubt, color my reading experience. It’s the experience of taking in the writer’s creation that’s so meaningful, not the medium by which it’s delivered.

I’ve heard many people refuse to consider using an e-reader. There seems to be an impenetrable wall of resistance to even the notion of using a reading device. It’s the usual mantra about loving the “feel” or “smell” of paper, or the pleasure derived from holding a real book in hand; or perhaps it’s the physical act of turning pages; or the heft of the book itself.

I too, love the sensory elements of reading a paper book, but that hasn’t precluded me from using an e-reader. After all, one reading medium doesn’t rule out the other.

Why do some people refuse--absolutely reject--the idea?

It’s not that they’re knuckle-draggers or technophobes because they often have smart phones, iPods, computers and Skype. And, I’ve noticed the repudiation of e-readers isn’t limited to older people. I know plenty of people under forty who, despite being completely comfortable with the technology of our times, want absolutely nothing to do with reading devices.

So, what exactly causes them to spurn this one technology?

I’ve thought about it as a psychiatrist, writer and avid reader. Maybe it’s because reading is something cultivated over the course of a lifetime, often beginning in childhood. Many book-lovers were read to as children—by a parent, babysitter, or some other adult. It was, for most of us, a very special thing.

“Read me a story” is something most of us can remember asking, if we think back to our earliest formative years. “Being read to” is an experience which becomes embedded in our psyches as a distinct and unique childhood pleasure. It’s loaded with meaning, and is suffused with memories of nestling on Mommy’s or Daddy’s lap; the look of the book with its bright, colorful illustrations; or the feel of the paper while we helped turn the pages. The physical book itself became the symbol housing the powerful emotional satisfaction of having parental attention bestowed upon us, with all its attendant meanings.

The book encapsulated a deep sense of pleasure, safety, wonder, satisfaction, and above all, love. These early experiences, and their residue, linger with us, and can have enormous emotional resonance.

On a pre-conscious level, perhaps some of us refuse to even try an e-reader because our minds view it as a renunciation of one of life’s earliest pleasures.

It’s merely my theory, but when I reflect upon how readily other technologies are embraced, none of them carry the primal significance of a “book in the hand.”

Mark Rubinstein,
Author, “Mad Dog House”

Three Lessons Learned From Adopting Older Children from Foster Care By Sue Badeau

Three Lessons Learned From Adopting Older Children from Foster Care
By Sue Badeau

1. Everyone can heal and grow. Healing and growth may look different for each individual and we may never see the wholeness we are hoping for, but we can continue to work towards it. I learned this lesson at an early age from my grandfather as he showed me how he cared differently for the various plants in his vegetable garden so that each would have the best chance of growing and bearing fruit. I have come to understand that this analogy also applies to children and teens – they are not all easy to grow – like zucchini – but then, what a boring garden it would be if we grew nothing but zucchini!

2. There is as much value in the journey as in the destination. I know, I know, it sounds like a worn cliché, but we have found it to be true. Years ago, we went on a family hike and this message came home to me in a powerful way as I saw my son who had been diagnosed with cerebral palsy and predicted that he would never walk, clambering along the hiking trail with his brothers and sisters. Years later as we experienced everything from teen pregnancy to a son in prison, I have had to remind myself again and again of this important lesson.

3. God makes all things new. While God does not “fix” everything in the sense of removing all obstacles, curing all diseases or unlocking all disabling conditions, He does, indeed, make all things new. I learned this after experiencing a car wreck – I still have some scars and there are things I cannot do, yet I was changed by the experience and “made new” in important ways. And as I think about some of my children viewed as most “damaged” by the world – whether physically or emotionally “damaged” by all kinds of brutal early life experiences – turning to drugs, early pregnancies or other outlets for their pain– I know that some people look at them and only see the wreck – but I like to look at them and see them as survivors. And I am always amazed how – in spite of the “damage” they have sustained they – through God’s grace and healing power – are able to find amazing new ways to do old things that many of us take for granted – communication, relationships, eating, moving, getting through the day.