Speaking of technology, it was the late Douglas Adams, author of the science fiction series “The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy,” who observed:
“1. Anything that is in the world when you’re born is normal and ordinary and is just a natural part of the way the world works.
“2. Anything that’s invented between when you’re 15 and 35 is new and exciting and revolutionary and you can probably get a career in it.
“3. Anything invented after you’re 35 is against the natural order of things.”
I was reminded of this some years ago, when one of my kids came to me and said, “Mom, I’ve got great news for you.”
“Really? You’ve decided you don’t need to go to college after all, and Daddy and I can spend all that money on ourselves instead?”
“Why would you do that? No, I’ve figured out that I don’t need the 18-giggle-bit Dipsy-whoodle, after all, because I can get all the features I need in the 17-giggle-bit Whanger-doodle, with the Ipso-Facto power pack. Isn’t that great?”
Well, it might be, if I had understood a word he said.
“You didn’t understand a word I said, did you, Mom?”
“Maybe one. Does it matter?”
“How can you live in the 21st century if you refuse to learn about anything in it?”
“I have a cell phone,” I protested feebly.
“And you wouldn’t even know how to mute it for movies if I hadn’t shown you.”
“I use the computer,” I continued.
“Only because Dad and I find your documents for you all the time.”
“Is it my fault your father installed some kind of hidden directory when he set the thing up?”
“You mean the one called ‘My Documents?’ You’re missing the point, Mom. You are completely technologically impaired, and you know it. You don’t even know how to use anything that was invented after 1960. It’s embarrassing.”
I wanted to deny hotly that this was true. I was fine with everything that had been invented, right up to my office fax machine. It’s only since my son, himself, arrived on the scene that I lost the ability to deal with anything more complicated than a microwave oven.
Still, I suppose he did have a point.
At that time, we were charging up cameras, camcorders, cell phones, and music pods for a trip in the morning – or rather my children were charging everything. I just stared at it all: a dining room table full of gizmos, and I had no idea what to plug where or why. I couldn’t even recognize most of it, although apparently I had paid for all of it.
“What does this thing do?”
“It’s an MP3 player, Mom.”
“So what’s an MP3? Some kind of weapon?”
“It’s MUSIC.”
“Why didn’t you say so? Did I ever tell you guys how cool it was when transistor radios first came out? You could actually play music from a shirt pocket.”
I got the look that means, “You’re babbling again. OF COURSE, we can play music from a shirt pocket. Duh!”
My only consolation was that soon we’d be visiting my mother, who is even more techno-phobic than me.
I used to chuckle at her for hanging on so tenaciously to her manual typewriter and dial phone. I told her that the Smithsonian was making over a wing to include her living room as an exhibit – with her in it.
But lately I’ve started wondering if there will be a room for me, too, in the Tech Museum. Maybe in the room next to hers. “Technologically impaired,” people will say, shaking their heads after reading my caption. “Such a shame; she just never caught on to the Doopsy-whoodle format.”
Looking at my progeny, I decide to try again. After all, these were the same young whipper-snappers I had taught to tie their shoes, not so long ago. But standing there, surveying the vast array of things I didn’t understand, I felt a bit intimidated.
“Maybe it’s a vitamin deficiency,” I say. “Maybe there’s something I could take, and I’d know just how to use every one of these things.”
“Vitamin T for Tech!” my kids shout. They are delighted by the idea.
I can think of a few other vitamins I’ll need as well:
Like Vitamin E, for Enduring the reading of instruction manuals;
Vitamin C, for staying Cheerful when my husband tries to teach me something;
And let’s throw in an H, for Here’s Hoping I survive it all.
