Every month, the First
Presbyterian Church in New York City’s Greenwich Village hosts a technology
seminar to educate the community’s older residents about the wireless innovations
their youthful counterparts grotesquely cuddle each night.
As modernity wars with tradition,
the attendees balance their aversion to technology with a true terror of
obsoleteness. Reactions to the seminar
are chuckle-provoking:
“I think it’s going to end badly,
this lack of contact in the world.”
“People say, ‘What if there’s an
emergency?’ I say, ‘There’s nine people
around me who have one.’ I’ve never had that emergency, and neither have
they.” [Smartphones]
“I’ve seen children neglected,” she
added darkly. “I’ve seen friends neglected.” [Not being connected]
“The worst is not knowing what it
is, not knowing how to get there, and knowing that everyone around you is
completely hooked in.”
‘“Has anybody heard of Angry Birds?”
he asked. Murmurs followed. Not one hand went up.’
“I’m too old to understand this,
but I think it’s great.”
“They could put a bomb on your head
anytime,” he said. Who could? “Your enemies,” he replied. “Your slobbering
enemies.” [Smartphone tracking technologies]
“It was fascinating…but it’s not my
generation, so I didn’t know what he was talking about half the time.”
What does this article tell
me? First, I am sixty years too young
for my own good. Second, the elderly
generation reaffirms their wisdom often.
In particular, the sassy woman who pairs an aversion to technology with
social disownment is decidedly astute. She
understands that, if you do not connect wirelessly, you cannot connect
socially.
As a nation, we have discarded
phone calls and snail mail, the only forms of communication familiar to our
oldest generations. What is left of
tradition? Very little. What choices do we leave holdouts?
The obstinate few who maintain their
wired ways must either suffer isolation or cultivate friendships with the local
Best Buy staff.
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