I asked my grandson to help me sort out some computer frazzles. I had to admit to myself that we can’t all be technological super stars forever. Just think if Olympic athletes could push speed, endurance and flexibility into old age. Still, it was embarrassing to realize that the digital train had just left the station and I was stuck at the gate. I wanted to tell him that a lot of my fix-it knowledge had passed an expiration date—that I had had my day, in my day.
Like the time I was substitute teaching in a lab class. There was a young female ‘assistant’ who seemed to resent an old fart needing to supervise her obvious skills and familiarity with student lessons and experiments. I quietly sat back and watched when a student when up to her complaining that a battery powered scope wasn’t working. The instructor, after poking and prodding with no results, told the student to wait till the regular teacher returned the next day. I walked over pulled the back cover off the machine, pulled out the two batteries, licked the posts and put them back in. The gizmo popped into gear and the experiment went on despite the sidelong glance from the assistant.
Another time, in the era of stick-shift cars, my brother stormed into the house grousing that he couldn’t start his car, somehow the battery had run-down and he was going to be late for work and maybe fired. I went out to the garage told him to get behind the wheel, flip the ignition on, depress the clutch and wait till he was at the end of the driveway to pop the clutch. I gave a running push until he was rolling good. Waved my arm. He lifted the clutch and the car roared to life.
Lately, I can’t say that I’m quite on top of current technology. Sometimes, though, I can still improvise. For example, the other day when my grandson complained that his mother’s cell phone had been left behind, charging, and he needed to let her know he had football practice after school and would be late getting home. I pulled a sheet of paper out of the computer, handed him a pencil and suggested leaving a note on the kitchen counter. He gave me the same eye torque I got from the classroom assistant.
We cope.
Retired trainer, and writing instructor, Joe Novara lives in Kalamazoo, Michigan. Writings include novels, short stories, a memoir and various poems, plays, anthologies and articles. Read more at https://freefloatingstories.wordpress.com/
