As I age gracefully, much like a hippopotamus in a tutu in ballet class, I realize that I’m no longer keeping up with the pace of modern life. In a younger time I was up on all the latest trends in fashion and technology. I had it all, a high fidelity record player, an eight track player in my car, a Beta Max video player, white bell bottoms and a dynamite set of love beads. Play the first three notes of any popular song and I could name it and the person or group performing it. I was Twist champion of Franklin County. I was on top of things, I was cool. All of the afore mentioned machines have disappeared except for the eight track player which in now in a museum. I can get only one leg into the bell bottoms and the mice have eaten most of my love beads which were made of organic beans and seeds. New Years Eve I watched the top ten songs of last year. I had heard none of them and couldn’t identify the native language most of them were performed in. I couldn’t name any of the performers and remember wondering if any of the female performers’ mothers knew what they were wearing to perform in. Recently when no one was watching except Telly my trusty canine companion, I tried doing the Twist again. My twister has rusted, the performance completely bewildered Telly and required two trips to the Chiropractor before I could walk straight again. I think the most amazing part of this transition I’ve gone through is that it doesn’t bother me a bit. As I’ve aged, like most of my peers, I participate less in life’s games and observe more and I’ve come to the conclusion that watching is more fun than participating. Until recently my cell phone flipped open and had no screen to speak of. My younger friends were fascinated by it, it was like bringing a manual typewriter to computer class. I had never sent a text message, another fact that amazed them which would usually be followed up by telling them that I was born before television, frozen food, air conditioners and microwaves. I then tell them about the buffalo skin loincloths we wore to school where we did our homework on rocks, they usually believed me after hearing about my primitive upbringing. Most of the poor little dears have never heard a phone actually ring and very few of them have actually ever talked on a real phone. They all walk or sit around, vacant looks on their faces staring at their phones as their thumbs dance around on them at mach 1 speed. They will text people sitting across the table from them. They walk into traffic, walls and each other while texting. Some even text while driving which helps out the natural selection process of the dumbest dying first. Talking seems to be going out of style. Our Pastor recently asked us for suggestions for getting more young people to attend services.
We have a Facebook page so I suggested that we announce on it a young persons’ service, bring your phones. Pastor could then stand at the pulpit and text the sermon to the congregation with no spoken word at all. It just might work but God being older even than me, bet you he doesn’t have cell phone so maybe we should just do it the old fashioned way and hope that the oddity of the spoken word will draw the young folk in.
Thought for the week—Don’t take yourself so seriously. No one else does.
Until next week, may you and yours be happy and well.
Whittle12124@yahoo.com
