"I've got my Blackberry; I'll email you the stats right now. Naw, I'm not doing anything important. I'm just standing in line."

I heard this while standing in queue for California Screamin' at Disney's California Adventure. The man who spoke those words wasn't there by himself; sadly, he was with his family. His wife looked mildly annoyed, though it was apparent that this was a regular part of her life. The kids didn't seem to mind, as they were both plugged into their iPods with the detached look of people who are there only in the physical sense.

Unable to shake the image of this Business-Is-Life company guy who was all too ready and more than willing to emotionally abandon his family, who couldn't tear himself away from work for even one day, I let my mind wander to what his family's life might be like. Maybe they drove several hours to visit Disneyland; I could clearly see the dad driving while yammering on the phone, the kids in the back of the minivan watching movies on their personal DVD players or using personal game systems. In short, a car filled with strangers, masquerading as a family.

How did this happen? When did work become more important than family? When did it become better to plug in a movie instead of talking with our children? Why on earth would anyone purposefully bring these gadgets into a place like Disneyland, which was created to overwhelm the senses and bring friends and families together? Where did we go so dreadfully wrong?

The last couple of decades have produced quantum leaps in communication and entertainment technology. We are now able to communicate instantly with people around the world, download music and movies with the click of a mouse, shop online, and do so many other things which, two hundred years ago, would have had us burned at the stake as witches. MP3 players, personal game systems, personal DVD players, PDA's, mobile Internet, and so many other toys are more fascinating and impressive than the darkest of witchcraft, but are by no means any less insidious. They appear to provide a sense of connection, but really offer little more than isolation. We call this progress.

Technology has made our world smaller, and has quickened the pace of everyday life. There was a time when parents weren't able to call their kids on their cell phones and find out immediately where they were; some parents even use GPS to confirm what their children are telling them is true. Does this make them better parents? I can mail a package today and have it be anywhere in the world by tomorrow; does this make me a better person? People are able to multi-task high-level, cross-platform transnational e-commerce, but are unable to communicate with their children. Life at the speed of business is not life and really, what is there that absolutely, positively has to be there overnight?

I understand that there are some people who actually need to be available at a moment's notice. Surgeons, heads of state and Jack Bauer, for instance. For these people, access to communication really is a life-and-death matter, and at times lives and the fate of nations, if not the world, truly hang in the balance. For the rest of us, the vast majority of us, it's just a means of diversion, an addiction to gadgetry which implies that the person on the other end of the phone is more important than the people in front of us; that emailing a co-worker has more importance in a person's life than the family they chose to create.

If by some random chance, the guy who inspired this story is actually reading this rant, listen up and listen good: Your kids are growing up before your eyes and you're barely there to see it. Think about what kind of adults you are creating and how their (and your) dependence on gadgets will impact their lives and what kind of parents you can expect them to become.

The cat's in the cradle, people. Leave the toys at home and enjoy your families while you can.