A couple of weeks ago we had our two daughters and their families over. As usual, everyone was bent over their cell phone or Ipad while more or less visiting and conversing. I noticed that my oldest daughter's cell phone looked new, so I asked her if it was and she said. "Yes". I asked what kind and she said, A white one." Of course we all laughed at this because although our oldest daughter is highly intelligent, has a serious corporate career, we all know she is brain dead when it comes to electronics, yet her very career depends on computers, the internet, etc. etc.. We all take turns gently teasing her about it because we all know that teasing her is akin to poking a sleeping bear with a pointy stick. Once aroused her ire is quite marvelous to behold, granted at a safe distance. She is the same way when it comes to automobiles. She despises cars yet drives a GMC van she somewhat fondly refers to as Mr. Knox. If someone were to ask her what kind of a car she drives she would honestly say, "One with four wheels." Then I thought, talk about the kettle calling the pot black. I have spent over 40 years working as a drafstman (The politically correct term is now draftsperson.) The last decade I have spent designing gas and chemical plants using a number of various 3D modeling platforms, yet if I need help with my TV and various things connected to it; I gotta call my grand kids. In fact I'm so electronic-gizmo brain dead that I don't dare deviate from my standard procedure of turning on my TV and DVD player things. If someone were to ask what kind of TV I had my response would be, "It's tall and wide and then look at them blankly as they shake their head and wonder off muttering things like, "what a dinosaur," at which point I would clandestinely check my skin for scales. My grand kids push a few buttons, make a few adjustments and say, "this is just like the last time we did this for you grandpa. Want us to make you a list?" That after me sharing all my special stock of Honey-Graham animal crackers. The ingraits! I'm always nervous when I decide to buy a part for my bike or my car, especially when it says, "Installs easily in ten minutes." Of course it does. I once purchased a belly pan for my 1800 Goldwing I was lured by the manufactures strident claim that 'installation' is simple. I guess I'm something lower on the scale than simple. I don't know what that means but my wife says think turnips. After struggling unsuccessfully for seven hours with said belly pan and it's four bolts, I finally admitted defeat and reluctantly called my son-in-law who is a licensed mechanic. I always take this as a kind of kamikaze, last resort thing because I want him to think that I am a bad ass mechanic and can do magical things like he can. Like fix the toaster kind of thing. HA HA HA! That, by the way, is sarcasm. He came over, lay on his back and within about 30 seconds got up. I said, "Do you need something? Can I grab you a squeezer thing (AKA pliers) or one of those socket things? You know what his response was? "No, I'm done!" Your, your, what? I gasped! "I'm done." Are you *ucking with my head because you know I struggled, I mean worked on this for SEVEN whole *ucking hours and I know how you guys like *ucking with my head. At which point he chuckles and goes into the house to join the other family members with yet another, 'Grandpa' story. I tell ya. I'm sure glad packing and smoking a pipe isn't near as complicated.
