Tales of Technology: The First Shall Be Last


Mom was the first in our family to use a computer. Her 1970s library technician job required it. She came home every day tearing out her hair from the frustration of learning something so unlike anything she had ever encountered. But Mom soon mastered the highest technology of the time and spent the rest of her career using it.

Image by Sergei Tokmakov, Esq. from Pixabay 

Then she retired . . . and technology moved on. Years of innovation passed her happily by and she entered her 80s without email, the Internet, or a cell phone. And then she had to conquer a whole new technology: the Mac. It came complete with a granddaughter to show her how to use it. But the hair tearing resumed. Mom had been a computer-use pioneer, but that skill was now irrelevant.

I wish, like my mother, that I could have merrily ignored advancing technology. But there is no stopping the inevitable. Like the rest of the planet, I eventually got a cell phone. One day, a text message appeared on my little Motorola RAZR. It was from my teenage daughter. I sort-of knew how to construct messages with the letters on the numbered dial pad—letters that I chose by hitting the button one, two, or three times. Clumsily, I sent a message back. My daughter’s friends were very impressed. None of their moms knew how to text! I was Cool-Mom!
Image by Clker-Free-Vector-Images from Pixabay  

Then I retired (so to speak: AKA once I got used to my cell phone I didn't want to bother learning how to use a different one) . . . and technology moved on. For as long as my RAZR drew breath I saw no point in an upgrade. Very quickly, the BlackBerry and iPhones arrived. My daughter now wondered aloud why I still bothered to use such antiquated technology as three-letter texting. Her friends’ deadbeat moms were texting away on their easy-to-use smart phones. Now they were the Cool-Moms! I had been a texting pioneer, but that skill was irrelevant.

When I told Mom that story she said, “You’re catching up to me!” Perhaps she and I together, with the help of grandchildren, can avoid falling further behind. Since keeping up with technology will probably be frustrating, I hope that, like Mom, I always have plenty of hair.


 

 

 

 

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Katimavik Military Option: They Yelled at Us!

Image
What Vancouver looked like in 1980, from HMCS Discovery Late in 1979, my Katimavik group left its friendly little Quebec village near the New Brunswick border. We had spent the previous three months getting to know the people there, working on community service projects, singing by guitar all evening, eating bean stew and whole wheat bread, and taking care of the environment.   We boarded an airplane (if the guitar had been out, we might have been singing some John Denver ) and headed for the west coast. In Victoria, we were met by a military bus. Katimavikers know what to do with a bus; on a bus, Katimavikers sing! And that’s what we were doing as we entered the gates of the Esquimalt military base for our three-month military option rotation. Our group leaders (military officers) were there to meet us. We were slow getting off the bus, and they yelled at us! This was a big shock to us sensitive granola-crunching tree huggers. But we got used to it. Katimavik is, ...
Read more

Alouettes!

Image
Not one wardrobe malfunctioned during the half-time show of the 1977 Grey Cup game in Montreal. I know, because I was there; right there in fact, on the field with hundreds of other dancing girls. We were dressed respectfully in long black pants, long-sleeved white turtlenecks and thin beige canvas sneakers. These did nothing to keep out the cold; but that didn’t matter, since we were on the move with our balloons and scarves.   The show was put together by the same team that, the year before, had choreographed the Olympic closing ceremonies. My two sisters and I were friends with a pair of sisters who had been in that show, with its own tale of wardrobe malfunction; although in those days this kind of thing was deliberate, and called “streaking”. When the call went out for girls to perform in the Grey Cup halftime show, these sisters talked us into doing it. We did not need much arm-twisting.   It sounded like a whole lot of fun… and at the end of weeks of practice, f...
Read more

Love

Image
When I moved to Ottawa in 1981, I liked to ride my bicycle along the Ottawa River . I lived in the west-end suburb of Nepean and rode from Andrew Haydon Park to downtown. I often stopped on a hillside near Woodroffe Beach and enjoyed the view of the Gatineau Hills. Now, married with four grown children, I live in the east-end suburb of Orleans. I like to ride my bicycle along the Ottawa River from Petrie Island to the Aviation Museum . I often stop on a hillside at the mouth of Green’s Creek and enjoy the view of the Gatineau Hills.   This is where 30 years has taken me: 25 Kilometres down the Ottawa river.   I loved Montreal, and I loved living at home. I would have stayed. But I wanted to learn a trade, and I was too insecure in my language skills to attend a French cooking school. The Baking Techniques course at Algonquin College in Ottawa was only one year long. Moving to another city was an exciting idea, as long as it wasn’t too far from home. And Ottawa had a...
Read more