"Look Pa!" As we gather around the family "hearth." One of our very first computers. Guess where it lived? In the piano room of course.
Won't be seeing my dad this weekend on our typical Saturday visit. He'll be fishing a tournament. But he's been texting me and Chris all week to see if the iPad2 we ordered has arrived via FedEx, yet. Like, he literally wants the tracking number so he can monitor its progress. (He also tracks my flights when I go on business trips).
He's basically living vicariously through our purchase, because he's frankly addicted to new technology. Our dad. The Oklahoma Bass Fisherman of the Year like ten freaking years in a row. One year away from retirement (he's always one year away, actually, and then chickens out and decides to 9-t0-5 it for one more year). Gets senior discounts. Remember watching Davy Crockett as a child of the fifties on his black and white TV set (that was probably the first moment of technology love, actually). Is what us agency folks would call... an early adopter. An early adopter that takes five minutes to type in his Google password because he's searching for his reading glasses and then uses the one finger typing approach, usually gets it wrong the first time, and then has to try again.
When our family went to Epcot for the first time as kids, one of our favorite rides was The Carousel of Progress. You follow this animatronic family through time until eventually they become the "family of tomorrow." Shag rugs, strangely mid-century living room furniture, but like with a computer (gasp!) in the kitchen! And technology all around them.
So flashback to last Saturday. I look around my parents living room, Chris is in the loveseat browsing his iPhone for the new iPad2 colors, Dad's in his armchair on his laptop (he once had an old Dell laptop that he hilariously just taped an Apple logo to the back of) comparing what color iPad2 cover he would buy if it were his (he-can't-stand-it) purchase, Mom's on the couch playing Words With Friends on her ancient iPad classic, Charlie's playing the Xbox while standing in the middle of the room, Sam's sidling down the couch trying to ditch his iPod for mom's iPad (but she's not giving in... yet) cause the Angry Birds are just so much bigger, and Jeremy and Kathleen are on the other end of the couch with me, looking up Costa Rica adventure vacations on their iPhones.
But dangit. We're all together!
Wait! Except Donny. So mom called him up (it was his birthday) and even though we got his voicemail (on his iPhone) we all screamed out this weird kind of Jesus version of the happy birthday song that our eighty-something grandma always just spontaneously sings to us without even saying hello when we answer the phone on our birthdays. But we got the words kind of jacked up (because we don't really ever hear this Jesusy birthday song except for that once a year ambush) but we're all scream-singing and laughing anyway.
Seriously, Apple should put us in a commercial. And Disney should make us into a ride.