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Childhood unplugged

My struggle to save my kids from consumer culture.

Media policing was a losing game. I decided on another tactic. My husband and I bought property in northern Wisconsin to give my children an antidote to the commercialized tech world. The land has 100-foot-tall pine trees, a quiet lake and creatures galore to explore. The natural assets were augmented with a canoe, kayak, floats, tubes, fishing gear, badminton and archery sets, even a 15-foot-wide water trampoline. (Hey, I'm not completely immune to consumerism.)

The only rules were: Have fun, and no electronics once we arrive at the lake. That last one was problematic. You'd think we'd asked them to cut off their arms. We allowed their cellphones, CDs and MP3 players in the car travelling to and from our property. But once we got there, we insisted everyone unplug and encouraged them to listen to the magic of the natural world: to slow down, look around, talk to each other, ponder, wander, sleep, play instruments, sing around a campfire.

Our youngest seems to appreciate our little piece of heaven, but the two older kids hate the place. I'll never forget passing my oldest son's tent late one night and seeing that eerie blue light spill out into the forest. I peeked in and there he was, zoned out while plugged into his smuggled cellphone playing a video game. My daughter spends most of her time putting makeup on, and vegetates in the car or in our camper.

But we won't give up the 'good' fight, for I know we're planting seeds of change. My 12-year-old son whispered to me this summer, "Mom, do you think when I get older I could have my wedding up here?" I whispered back, "Yes, honey. I would really love that."

For me, this was a small victory in my personal crusade against consumerism.

Leah Dobkin is a freelance writer who writes about social change and aging issues.

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