Dad Entry #161

I wonder if there are any sort of time-stamped activities or accessories, things unique to Michael and Megan’s childhood era, that will seem antiquated to their kids, to the next generation. Young people today might struggle to conceive of things like life before cell phones, or life before the internet, or life before the internet on cell phones. Attempting to imagine this, they'll feel pity. Which is odd because I don't recall being vexed whatsoever when I couldn’t be texted or called directly when I told my parents I was at Dave’s house, and Dave told his parents he was at my house, and we were both actually at Maggie’s house, along with twenty other high-schoolers, for the entire night, none of us feeling slighted or grievously inconvenienced by the absence of mobile devices; we were untethered, and having a blast.

Internet access via dial-up sucked though. We should be pitied for that, the glacial speed and horrible screeching, although that sound had a happy association for us; it meant maybe we'd finally connect.

Will the class of 2050 talk less? I’m referring to conversation of the face-to-face variety, without digitizing intermediaries like smartphones, Skype, or social networks. One has to wonder. But I assume they’ll jabber as much as every generation prior. It'll get worse, in fact, if media prominence is any indicator; every day sees more channels and talking heads added to TV. In other words, talking too much is so very human, as in pervasive and permanent, not apt to change any sooner than the tradition of being born with arms and legs, and mouths, and overactive, judgmental minds. Now I sound cynical.

Speaking of arms and legs, I hope my kids’ kids do as many activities that require movement of these fantastic things we’re born with, our physical bodies. They are, after all, our only material possessions at birth, and also the most utterly impressive and valuable ones we'll ever own, our bodies, but each is different, of course, and in varying degrees of disuse, disrepair, deterioration, or decrepitude (and that’s only the D’s) but all exponentially more amazing and complex than anything the world's finest engineers have created. I’m so happy Michael and Megan still dig in the dirt, once in a while, and write on the sidewalk with chalk, and suffer other distinctly non-technological distractions; they wrestle, play catch, swing, jump rope, and poke at insects. They love parks and ponds and Reptile Fest. They do, however, bear some stunning deprivations their children may never know, things like TVs with only 480p resolution, and DVRs incapable of recording unlimited channels simultaneously. For shame! I think there was a commercial that spoofed this. Funny.

I remember playing in garbage dumps when I was a kid. My children have never enjoyed this very safe and sterile luxury. The first dump was a decades-old heap in the virgin, forested acreage owned by my grandparents in Iowa. My Grandma Bev still owns it. It’s an island of trees surrounded by cornfields. Unadulterated beauty. Except for the dump. My ancestors used it before we had rackets, I mean companies, like Waste Management. Yes, my family hauled their own garbage! And in the process they amassed a treasure trove of old license plates, beer cans, medicine bottles – glass medicine bottles, as was the practice in lieu of plastic back then – old appliances, and lots of rusty, crumbling, razor-sharp indistinguishable debris. Tetanus shot, anyone? I loved that trash pile. Unfortunately, they had it bulldozed and buried when I was still a kid.

The other spot I’m referring to was a fascinating assemblage of scrap from road and home construction, but it also, to my delight, contained spare auto parts and pieces. Or so I thought and bragged to my buddies. I was suddenly a mechanic. Spark plugs come from cars, right? We rode our Huffys to the site several times, excavating more nuts and bolts every visit. Jackpot! I filled a whole shoebox with miscellaneous screws, brackets, clamps, and old batteries that leaked skin-eating acid. I was in heaven, and I sincerely hope these types of experiences are always available to future generations.