My son thinks I’m technology-impaired. I’m really not: I know how to use the computer for basic needs–I can google, send emails, track my weight on an Excel spreadsheet. And look, I’m blogging! But to a 17-year-old, that’s Kindergarten stuff. Can I write codes to create my own programs? Hack into Ben & Jerry’s for their New York Super Fudge Chunk recipe? Photoshop a Godzilla head over a portrait of my best friend?
Although I still profess mild proficiency on the computer, when it comes to most other technology, I’m truly a fossil. Why is it that my son can organize his schedule, text three friends, check the Yankees score, order a pizza and view satellite photos of our home all from his phone?
The other night I was sitting on the couch reading a magazine, when my son asked me to hand him the television remote. He erupted into laughter when I accidentally handed him my cordless phone. “She was serious!” he commented as he recounted the incident later to his father. Hey, honest mistake. Besides, if he can do all that other stuff on his own phone, seems he could at least change the TV channel with mine.