Mixed Tape Memories

Do you ever feel as out of date as a well-worn eight-track tape or, better yet, a rotary phone attached to a landline?
I feel this way a lot these days. Especially when I overhear my daughters explaining to their friends that I was born either in the year 1942 or 1992. They weren’t sure of the exact date of my birth, other than the fact that they were certain “it was a long, long, long time ago . . . like in the mid to late nineteen hundreds, or something crazy like that.”
When it’s put that way, I guess the ten and under set assume I grew up in pre-historic times. I am surprised they didn’t ask me if we had cars or indoor plumbing way back when. Though with all this new technology I have to admit that I do feel like a cavewoman outrunning the lightening speed of progress armed with only a club and the scant knowledge of how to make fire.
Sure, they’re some really smart people out there figuring out things we never thought would be possible in our lifetime, like how to make cars that drive themselves, how to take a quick trip to space as a tourist, and how to make objects appear as if they have actually disappeared.
Personally, I don’t know about any of this. How am I going to program a car to leave the driveway when I can’t even work the voice mail on my cell phone? And if the kids are going to Grandma’s for a few days, I’m sorry, but the last place I’m spending my free time is in a 3-ton space suit strapped to an explosive missile. I don’t care if they are serving fancy freeze-dried gelato and brie; I’d rather go to a beach somewhere with room service and drinks with little umbrellas in them. Don’t even get me started on cloaking technology (which I happen to think is the silliest invention known to man)! Why hide something when you can’t even find the ordinary everyday things you need like your keys, your checkbook, and a matching pair of shoes?
Then, to make matters worse, along come these little know-it-alls . . . you know, the kids of the twenty first century. They haven’t even lost their back molars yet and still need a stool to reach the mini-Snickers bars stashed in the pantry, but they know how to TiVo Camp Rock 2 while recording it to disc for their friends. They can film a cute little play they came up with on my cell phone so they can email it to my mom. And it takes them three clicks of the mouse to download a playlist from iTunes for a slumber party.
On the other hand, I still haven’t figured out how to use the input button on the remote control. That button, I’m here to tell you, was designed simply to make the majority of people from the nineteen hundreds feel stupid.
So, what do I do about it? Do I take an evening course on how to operate Windows 7? Nope. Do I buy the book iPhones for Dummies? Not a chance. Do I start to actually listen to my husband when he tries to explain how to work the DVD player? Now why would I ever do that? Why waste all my time when I can resort to the oldest trick in the book – to start sounding like my parents?
It’s like the old “I had to walk to school, uphill, both ways,” conversations or that story about getting to see John Wayne at the movie theater for the nickel that was saved up from the five straight weeks of delivering papers at dawn on the paper route.
“You know, when I was your age and we went on a road trip, we actually had to talk to each other,” I tell them as I set the cruise control on seventy. “We would sing along to the radio, or see who could count the most cows or sheep.”
“That’s nice, but my legs are getting cold,” one of them shouts from the backseat. “Can you turn up the seat warmer? Oh, and turn up the volume on the DVD player while you’re at it. I can’t hear what Shrek is saying with all this chatter.”
I try telling them all about the dark ages. You know, when we would have to get up off the couch halfway through a movie to turn over a laser disc that was as big as an extra large pepperoni pizza, and then go sit back down. I share stories about not having a laptop in high school or college, but a Brother word processor that was bigger than a breadbox and could barely fit in the trunk of my car.
We didn’t talk, text, email or IM each other back and forth over cell phones. We actually hung out at each other’s houses making mixed tapes off the radio, writing notes to friends, talking for hours in our bedrooms because our parents kept kicking us off the home phone so they could use it. But, alas, it all falls on deaf ears. And why wouldn’t it? They usually have ear buds stuck in them.
I will be first one to say how lucky my kids are. No more boring road trips kicking the back of the seat. No more dreary trips to the library. No more Dewey decimal system. No more scratchy old mixed tapes with half the song cut off.
But in spite of all of these new fangled things they have, part of me wonders how much they might be missing. In spite of the many wonderful ways we can get plugged into this planet that now seems much bigger to them than it ever did to me, I only hope they don’t forget how to connect -- I mean really connect -- with the world and the people in it.
There is no stopping progress, but there is nothing wrong with slowing down and appreciating the simple things either. And yes, I can’t wait to see what these children of the 21st century do with all of this new technology. I have no doubt they’ll find a cure for cancer. Maybe they’ll figure out a way to reverse paralysis. Hopefully, they’ll be able to safely deflect asteroids threatening to enter earth’s atmosphere and make sure people everywhere, all over the world, have clean water to drink. Because what is the point of all of this progress if it is not, at its core, to prolong our precious time, and that of our loved ones, here on earth? Let’s just hope with each additional moment we get, we won’t forget what it means to truly just be with one another.
Speaking of which, the kids and husband are downstairs on their Playstation 3 blowing up aliens online with their cousins in Barcelona. I’ve got to go; it’s time to text them that dinner is ready.