There was an article in the newspaper recently lamenting the fact that, by the time most felonious parents are released from prison, they will be facing an almost insurmountable technology gap: unlike their children, most of these ex-cons will have no idea how to use an iPod, a Blackberry, or even a cell phone, which will necessarily make reestablishing any sort of respectful relationship with their children difficult at best.
To me, this was quite disturbing: if being able to operate an iPod, Blackberry, or cell phone is what it takes to gain my children’s respect then I might as well just start running red lights and writing hot checks now, because I’m hopeless. Forget even iPods and Blackberries: the last time I tried to use a friend’s cell phone I ended up handing the whole thing back in disgust, saying, “Never mind: I guess I didn’t really need to find out about those lab results today after all.”
It’s especially embarrassing because I don’t even have ten year’s incarceration as an excuse (unless you count nearly ten years of motherhood, which sometimes I do: sometimes, in fact, I consider it to be time served of the hardest sort). On the contrary, in the world of technological ignorance motherhood is clearly no excuse: there’s plenty of soccer moms out there who can dial a cell phone, record little Alexis’s playdate with Cheyanne in their Blackberry and listen to the latest Rush Limbaugh podcast all at the same time (and, who, frequently it seems, do so while attempting to merge their Cadillac Valdez in front of my cowering Suburu). So what is my excuse? While there are, as always, many deep-seated and piercing psychological issues that could easily be blamed for my technophobia, by far the most compelling one is this: I’m terribly, terribly cheap.
That’s it. Even though I’d like to claim some kind of forward-thinking, back-to-the-Earth, live-simply-so-that-others-may-simply-live philosophy behind my Luddite ways, the hard truth is that I’m just plain cheap. My house is free of cable TV not because “my children shall never be sullied by crass commercialism”, but because I can’t bear the thought of parting with hard earned money just to watch TV. It’s the same reason that I refuse to buy video and computer games: although I’d like to be able to say it’s because they’re too violent; it’s really the violence they will do to my wallet that has me afraid.
The odd thing is, my own childhood was exactly the opposite: growing up, my stepfather would always run out and buy the latest gadget, no matter how expensive or untested it was: we were the first ones on the block with a “microwave oven” (it had two features: “on” and “not on”); the first ones to have a “car phone” (it came with its own suitcase); and, naturally, the first ones to have a VCR (Beta, of course).
Who knows, though? Maybe it was living with all of those crappy, first run electronics that put the fear of purchasing into me in the first place: it’s true that every time I think about buying them my inner child starts in–“What? Don’t you remember trying to rent a movie in the “Beta” section of the video store when all they had left was Smokey and the Bandit IV, Ode to Billy Joe and Arthur Returns?”–until once again I’m unable to complete the major purchase of a piece of technology.
If you look at it that way, it’s almost as if I’m doing my kids a favor by not exposing them to the fabulous world of modern electronics at a young age; at least now they won’t have to experience shoppus interruptus like I do every time I go to buy a new stereo. Plus, they won’t feel so left out the next time they’re in jail.