I went to church today; I haven't been in a while. A boy sat in front of me with a coloring book and candy. Watching him I felt discontent—his parents must be indifferent or uncaring, I thought. They'd given him a fancy modern coloring book with special paper and markers. It was impossible for him to color beyond the lines within the pictures. What a horrible thing, a boy who can't express himself (in church no less, another story). If he had wanted to write his name or add something from his imagination to the page he would've been out of luck. My mind conceived a new generation with automated everything. That exaggeration may be baseless, but it's worth an alarm. Is the development of his classification and concept skills going to be impeded? I suddenly hear Bob Dylan's voice singing about Pavlov's dog.

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