Technological entertainment has stolen my imagination, and I want it back! It lured me with its dazzling charm, sophisticated beauty, and promise of adventure—the perfect con artist. Looking back, I wish for the time when I didn't know what an iPod or iPhone was.

Every summer, my grandparents' house in Trinidad swarmed with grandchildren. It was the only time of year I saw my cousins, and it was absolutely marvelous. There was no better place for twelve rambunctious and energetic kids to let loose than on a ranch in Colorado. There were acres and acres of open space, with no streets cutting play areas short and no neighbors to be bothered by screams of delight. My grandparents' home was a crate of chunky LEGOs, ready for building. There were bikes of all sizes, books for all ages, decapitated Barbies, stuffed animals, and board games from the '50s: Parcheesi, Sorry, and Aggravation were pulled from the toy chest most. We had golf carts, a trampoline, a giant swing between two telephone poles, a merry-go-round from the one-room school house my Grampa went to as a boy, and a club house on stilts, complete with a slide. With all of these wonderful blocks, my cousins and I crafted the craziest structures.

We took the sturdy building blocks and made new creations, unconstrained by tedious instructions dictating how to build Hogwarts or Star Wars space ships. Instead our imaginations ran wild, unbounded as we erected one-of-a-kind creations. One unique build was the "food" we whipped up to make our club house feel realistic. All it took was a bit of paint, some water, and a ton of dirt. For a whole day we sat outside in the hot sun, swatting mosquitoes and crafting mud delicacies. In the end, we had a chocolate ice-cream cake, donuts with sprinkles, three scoops of ice-cream (vanilla, strawberry, and chocolate), eggs, sausages, and a whole pepperoni pizza. I smile every time I step into the club house, its table laden with goodies. Who could have thought it all came from dirt?

We did not limit ourselves to just making our own toys. We also created our own games. My favorite, and the one we got in trouble for the most, was lava monster. Day after day we scampered down the ramp from the laundry room to the garage as we rushed to get outside. The ramp was always covered by a rug to prevent us from slipping as we tromped along. Then one day we realized the wood underneath the rug was slippery, perfect for sliding down in socks. And thus lava monster was born. After neatly rolling the rug out of the way, one person volunteered to be the monster and crouched in waiting at the bottom of the ramp. Everyone else was stationed at the top, with the goal of touching the garage door without getting caught and eaten by the lava monster. Though simplistic, that game was entertaining and resulted in shrieking and laughter. It was all the more fun because it was forbidden. Unfortunately, my grandmother's office, where she did bookkeeping, was just off to the side of the ramp. Because we did a fair amount of squealing and screaming when the lava monster dragged us down, it was not a huge hit with her. Lava monster became a special game that could only be played on those rare occasions when my grandmother was out of the house.

If the adults only knew how many injuries we sustained, they would have forbidden Cops and Robbers as well. The premise was simple. There were two groups: one played the robbers and the other pretended to be policemen. The policemen could use the golf carts, while the robbers were stuck with bicycles. A robber was officially caught when the policemen could corner and tag him. This game was dangerous with all the bicycles and golf carts zooming around. There were several near collisions as we careened around corners, and more than a few serious injuries when a robber, in his hurry to escape, crashed. It was risky, stupid, and sometimes painful, and we absolutely loved it. Together, the golf carts and bikes made a fast-paced, often explosive, game.

The most intricate and frequently built LEGO structure required the greatest imagination. Every grandchild would pretend to be some wild and exotic animal, like a cheetah, lion, or tiger. Then each person would carve out a piece of territory from the cavernous family room. We turned off the overhead lights, and a game of playful hunting and fighting commenced. Sometimes this game, appropriately called Lions and Tigers, would get even crazier. We would set up shops and assign jobs. There was always a doctor and his secretary, and usually some shopkeepers. It was a long running game we played for years. The only official instructions were darkness, wild animals, and tons of imagination—how else could you turn Barbies into zebras?

Although all of these games sound ridiculous, they nurtured my imagination. This creativity served me well over the years when I had no cell phone, laptop, or iPod. I had to come up with ways to entertain myself during long car trips because I didn't have an electronic gizmo to pass the time. At the time I was jealous of my friends who had fancy vans with built-in DVD players, or who were always playing a game on their phone or listening to music. I thought having the newest technology would make my life more exciting. But now that I have some of the fancy gadgets, I wish I didn't. Yes, when I'm bored at a restaurant or on a bus ride I can pull out my phone and play a game or even watch a movie. I am entertained, but I am also alone—even if a friend is next to me. Rather than entertaining myself, or making memories with those around me, or even making a new friend, I turn to some electronic box. When my friends and I went to eat at Oregano's recently, we had to wait twenty minutes for a table. We walked over to a bench, sat down, and immediately drew our phones, ready to fire. There was little conversation, and the only sound was the tone indicating a new text message. Technology had crippled me.

Technology is not all evil. It does amazing things like keep people who are miles away in touch, maintain organization, and assure that help is always within a few keystrokes. My phone helps me keep track of upcoming events, locate a nearby Subway when I'm starving, and snap pictures of memorable moments. Technology offers so many benefits that I can't concisely list them all here. It has become an indispensable part of our lives. But it also has its drawbacks. For me, it weakens imagination. It's a crutch.

Technological entertainment is the antithesis of summers at my grandparents' house. Their ranch was stocked with simple LEGOs, and it was up to us to piece them together for our entertainment. Everything we needed to keep ourselves amused was there, waiting for us to create toys and games that were as unique as we were. The sets we constructed were vibrant and special, and still bring my cousins and me closer together as we laugh about all of our fond memories. With technology, the building blocks are fancier, with more colors, shapes, and sizes. But despite these new possibilities, today's LEGOs, for instance, are constraining. They come as parts of sets, with instructions that must be carefully followed to build the perfect space ship or castle. These scenes, though exquisitely detailed and perfectly built, are boring because anyone can make them, and they are all the same. Similarly, there is nothing special about Angry Birds, which everybody and their dog plays on their cell phones. My scores mean nothing to me or to anyone else. When the scenes are pre-planned and every set comes with instructions, we forget how to make our own, and instead rely on what is given to us. Entertainment technology incapacitated my imagination, and now I have to fight to rescue it, chasing after it in my golf cart.