The girls and I were in the car headed to school. There was a story on the radio, that was less interesting than our conversation. They were chatting about the day ahead and homework the night before. Then I heard a song from Newsies, which is a favorite of ours.
"How about that! Listen to what is playing on the radio!"
"It's playing on my phone," my daughter informed me.
Oh.
We said our goodbyes as they climbed the steps, and my attention fell back to the newscaster. Within a few seconds I snapped it off.
The minutes I spend in the car are minimal. The places I work, the stores I shop at, the church I belong to are all within a mile or three. It is just enough time to click on the radio for news updates.
But in the last year I have instituted a policy of censorship. There are a pair of topics that go off as soon as they begin. I am not interested in the negativity they bring with them. Instead I turn on music.
I have no control over what is broadcast. Someone else I will never meet does that. Yet the knob is within reach. The signal can stop at my windshield.
Our brains are a kind of radio receiver too. Thoughts of all description show up. There is no filter yet concocted that can protect me from unwanted ideas wandering in. The purview around which ones stay, however, is all mine.
