“So,”
said the four-and-a-half year-old granddaughter, as we sat side by side
on the sofa watching the flat screen TV on which the cartoon figures
darted about in high definition playful animation, “what was your
favorite program when you were my age?”
“Actually, when I was your age we didn't have a television,” I replied with a smile.
She turned from the television and looked at me as small wrinkles of concern accented her forehead. “Oh, I'm sorry; I didn't know your family was so poor.”
“Oh, no, honey,” I assured her. “It wasn't that we were poor; now we weren't rich but we weren't poor. It's just that when I was your age people didn't have television.”
Now the small wrinkles of concern deepened into crevasses of consternation. “People didn't have television?” She shifted on the sofa to face me, the cartoon figures now less important that when she'd invited me to watch her favorite show. “Why didn't people have television?”
“Well, television wasn't available for people in their homes back then. A scientist had invented it, but they didn't know how to make it so it could be sold for people to have it in their homes.”
The lines on her forehead doubled. She moved to her knees, wrapped her arms around my neck and hugged me tightly. Quietly she said into my ear, “I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry.”
“It's okay,” I said as I patted her back. “There were a lot of things we didn't have back then.”
She moved back to a kneeling position while her left hand remained on my right shoulder and the wrinkles remained on her forehead. There was concern in her voice as she said, “What else didn't you have?”
I thought a second then reached into my pocket and took out my smart phone. “We didn't have cell phones.”
There was a full thirty seconds of silence. It was obvious she was trying to process this electrifying piece of information. “How did you talk to people who were not in your house?”
“Oh, we had phones but they weren't like this. They were connected to a wire that came out of the wall of the house. And that wire went to a wire outside. You know those poles that go down your street?” She nodded. “Well, they call those telephone poles because one of those wires on the pole connected everybody together. So when you talked on the phone in the house your voice when through the wire to the house of the people you were calling.”
Removing her hand from my shoulder and folded her arms across her chest. “Are you teasing me?” I shook my head. She stared at the floor. The program on the television was changing. Now two different cartoon figures were having a conversation on the screen. “You talked on a phone that was hooked to the wall by a wire?”
“That's right.”
“So, how did you talk to people when you were outside or maybe in the car or maybe at the ballgame?”
“We didn't. The phone was in the house.”
She turned back to the television. For five minutes I was irrelevant. Then she turned to me and said, “Computers?”
“We didn't have computers.”
Patting my leg affectionately, she whispered, “Bless your heart.”
“Actually, when I was your age we didn't have a television,” I replied with a smile.
She turned from the television and looked at me as small wrinkles of concern accented her forehead. “Oh, I'm sorry; I didn't know your family was so poor.”
“Oh, no, honey,” I assured her. “It wasn't that we were poor; now we weren't rich but we weren't poor. It's just that when I was your age people didn't have television.”
Now the small wrinkles of concern deepened into crevasses of consternation. “People didn't have television?” She shifted on the sofa to face me, the cartoon figures now less important that when she'd invited me to watch her favorite show. “Why didn't people have television?”
“Well, television wasn't available for people in their homes back then. A scientist had invented it, but they didn't know how to make it so it could be sold for people to have it in their homes.”
The lines on her forehead doubled. She moved to her knees, wrapped her arms around my neck and hugged me tightly. Quietly she said into my ear, “I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry.”
“It's okay,” I said as I patted her back. “There were a lot of things we didn't have back then.”
She moved back to a kneeling position while her left hand remained on my right shoulder and the wrinkles remained on her forehead. There was concern in her voice as she said, “What else didn't you have?”
I thought a second then reached into my pocket and took out my smart phone. “We didn't have cell phones.”
There was a full thirty seconds of silence. It was obvious she was trying to process this electrifying piece of information. “How did you talk to people who were not in your house?”
“Oh, we had phones but they weren't like this. They were connected to a wire that came out of the wall of the house. And that wire went to a wire outside. You know those poles that go down your street?” She nodded. “Well, they call those telephone poles because one of those wires on the pole connected everybody together. So when you talked on the phone in the house your voice when through the wire to the house of the people you were calling.”
Removing her hand from my shoulder and folded her arms across her chest. “Are you teasing me?” I shook my head. She stared at the floor. The program on the television was changing. Now two different cartoon figures were having a conversation on the screen. “You talked on a phone that was hooked to the wall by a wire?”
“That's right.”
“So, how did you talk to people when you were outside or maybe in the car or maybe at the ballgame?”
“We didn't. The phone was in the house.”
She turned back to the television. For five minutes I was irrelevant. Then she turned to me and said, “Computers?”
“We didn't have computers.”
Patting my leg affectionately, she whispered, “Bless your heart.”
Dear Parson,
Don't even bring up remote controls, outside antennas or rabbit ears with aluminum foil. Peace, Curtis
Posted by: Curtis Grissett | October 22, 2012 at 08:04 AM
Or transistor radios.
Or a slide rule.
Posted by: Dave Sundberg | October 23, 2012 at 10:25 AM