DISCONNECTED

Fathers spend their lives trying to pass something on, even when the line goes dead. Whatever he meant to say disappeared. Our voices cut out, like a cord pulled from the wall. The phone screen replaced them with silence.

I call myself a workaholic. I grew up in poverty, and my childhood lacked comfort. I made it my mission to work hard and build a legacy for myself and my family. In 2015, with my first son on the way, I felt excitement at the thought of someone carrying that legacy and my last name. I named him Andrew, after my father, who served in the U.S. military and fought hard for our country.

Andrew and I spent much of our time together. His mom works as an on-call nurse, covering nights and holidays. By 2025, I failed to understand how difficult it would be to raise a Gen Alpha kid who lives through a phone screen.

My work schedule drains what little energy I have by the end of the day. The last thing I want is conversation with my son. My routine stays the same: I come home, heat baked ziti in the oven, sit on the sofa, and open a cold beer.

As a kid, I rode my bike around the neighborhood with friends until my mom yelled my name and called me inside. Andrew lives differently. He is ten years old and watches other kids stream video games. I struggle to understand the appeal of watching someone else play for entertainment. Andrew enjoys it. Every Gen Alpha kid does. I share the blame.

My shoulders sag as I move toward the sofa. Each step carries weight. The couch holds a sunken spot from years of use. People say I sit there Monday through Friday at five in the afternoon. Like Andrew, I reach for my phone and scroll through reels of viral food recipes with thick fingers. I have attended five weddings in the past month only through my feed alone. Social media filled a gap left by years without modern technology. It reminds me of using a house phone or paying for minutes to call a friend and talk about life. A couch and social media replaced all of that.

Some see this as connection. I see distance. That distance defined my relationship with Andrew. We lie on the sofa while our screens speak louder than we do. Our smiles look like the result of shared jokes, but they come from videos. Andrew laughs because a streamer across the screen performs an emote dance during a Fortnite stream.

Seconds turn into minutes. Minutes turn into hours. Our once-close bond fades. The living room fills with daylight, the sun still above the horizon. Andrew sits to my left, eyes fixed on the screen, reflections flickering across his face. He accepts this routine without question.

I stand and grab my shoes. I pull them on, keys hanging from my hand. The sound catches Andrew’s attention.

“Come on, kid,” I say. “Let’s go for a drive.”

“Okay,” he says, a confused look appearing on his face.

I drive a 2024 Ford Bronco. It feels modern to me, built to carry more technology than I ever had growing up. It has Apple CarPlay, and Andrew lights up when he plugs his phone in.

He shows me songs he found, and we laugh at the parts he loves. The screens don’t feel so heavy anymore.

We pull into an Italian drive-through and order our usual favorite, baked ziti. We eat in the car and talk for what feels like hours.

Joannie Quispe Alvarez loves to beach in the sunshine state, Florida. When she isn't writing, she enjoys spontaneous impromptu trips to Disney with her two boys, Adrian and Liam. Follow her on Instagram @itsjustjojoo.