Please read on, because this is probably the only semi–serious comment I’m going to make about the topic of verbal communication, but I do so to indicate that I don’t take this subject lightly. I am extremely concerned about forthcoming generations ability to verbally express themselves and capture the essence of life as it may relate to potential literary and artistic endeavors. The fear is, where’s the next generation of really outstanding writers and artists, who can compete with previous giants and maybe qualified as possible Nobel Laureates or Masters of the Classics, without life’s important method of verbal communication, called “Gee, let’s talk!”
I have to admit that I have no clue as to how some of this new electronic stuff works, including the various and sundry remote controls for my TV, my TiVo or my DVR. I have the skill set that allows me to turn this stuff on and off, change channels, record programs etc. etc. I am not one that is really interested in sitting down and reading a user’s manual the size of a small novel, which in the final analysis does not do much more than confuse the living hell out of me. However, I have been able to muddle through this morass of information and am perfectly content with my present, albeit less than average skill sets.
It is rather disconcerting however, when my grandchildren come in and have the tactile dexterity and immediate comprehension of the most complex elements of utilizing the various controllers associated with the television, telephone, computer and all other accouterments such as the DVR and TiVo. Every time they mess around with my system it takes me hours to reset this thing back to the simplistic moronic utilization that I previously enjoyed.
Alas, I am a graduate engineer with years of experience in electronics and feel totally inadequate and useless having to call a nine-year-old to find out how to do something, or should I say undo something that was generated during their last visit. We now have a rule that says “nobody adjusts anything to anything without JJ’s approval and that all this equipment should be returned to its marginally functional state as JJ has prescribed because he’s not smart enough to figure out what the hell the nine year old did.”
One of the more recent humiliating events was during a visit of this latest generation. I was attempting to make some adjustments to the “TiVo” box with very little success and my 12-year-old grandchild came in and said “What you doing Papa?” My first thought was, well this could be interesting as a learning experience for this budding genius, meaning the kid not me. Again, I explained what I was certain were in layman terms what I was trying to accomplish and even had the instruction book, an oxymoron, sitting on the table, which shows you how frustrated I was because I only use these as a last resort. Maybe that’s my problem.
The only response I got from the diminutive whiz kid was “Oh.” This prompted me to try to explain in further childlike detail what the issue was. I had set the remote control on the coffee table and this obnoxious offspring of one of my children (whom I am absolutely convinced were switched at birth with some other less cogent parents or possibly something I could blame on the milkman, if we ever had a milkman, which we didn’t) came over, picked it up and inside of a minute or maybe even less had resolved the issue. He put the remote down and picked up his iPad, or whatever, and I’m sure was texting one of his friends that “he had a total idiot for grandfather.”
Three weeks back, I went downtown and decided I needed a caffeine hit, so I went into one of the specialty coffee shops and gave them my order. I sat down next to a young mother, and I’m guessing maybe a nine- or 10-year-old little girl. She was playing on one of these electronic gadgets, and her mother was attempting to use her cell phone. I overheard this young mother make a statement that she was having trouble with her cell phone. The nine-year-old looked up and said “We may not be near cell tower.” At this point, I did in fact eavesdrop with some amazement and curiosity as to what Mom would say. She said “But I just made a call!” The nine-year-old put out her hand and asked her Mom for the phone, did something I couldn’t see and handed it back to Mom. Mom proceeded to dial, talking to whoever she contacted and I sat there thinking whatever happened to Walt Disney and “it’s a wide, wide world.”
My concern is that when somebody’s youngsters ask questions like “Hey, where do babies come from?” The recipient will say something to the effect “Why don’t you get on your iPad!” Maybe we have put dear old Dr. Spock out of business. If you don’t know who Dr. Spock was, you get my general answer – get on the web or your iPad and ask Apple.
Speaking of Apple, it used to be that an Apple was something that you took a bite out of, rather than the Apple taking a bite out of you. Apples were usually grown on a tree somewhere in the United States and not necessarily China. I guess we put “Johnny Appleseed” as well as Dr. Spock out of work – as well as a bunch of us. To enlighten you, Dr. Spock wrote a book many years ago on how to raise a child, and Johnny Appleseed is at least a 250-year-old folk tale about a guy spreading his seeds throughout the United States. Keep it clean, it was Apple seeds, anf he was trying to grow Apples. His name was not Jobs nor Woz, like in the Woz-ard of Oz. “We’re off to see the Wizard, the wonderful Wizard of Woz.”
The other aspect of this cultural and social communications revolution is by definition, jobs are something that better than 18% of Americans are looking for. Maybe we should all go to China, as that would certainly solve our federal fiscal issues. I don’t believe they have anything defined as mandates. Everything is a mandate! But I digress.
Years ago Blue-eyes had taught our kids a song by Harry Belafonte called, “Mama, look at Boo-Boo” (if you don’t know this one, hit the web for full disclosure and even less intellectual stimulation”), and I think my kids are teaching that to their kids with reference to their grandfather. I got even with all of them the next day however, when I called my lawyer and took them all out of the will, with the completely rational statement that “the whole world hates smart asses!” It’s really okay, and I’m not being mean because all they would’ve inherited would’ve been a bunch of debt anyway.
Moral of the story – Don’t teach your kids a song that they later invest in your grandchildren, and buy Dr. Spock’s book – you may have missed something!
J.J. Addingnuttin 