It had been too long since I’d seen Bernard, my invisible octogenarian
friend. (Although he hates that I point this out about him, the fact that he’s
invisible. He said it hardly matters anymore what with all the time people
spend in the virtual world.) He was excitedly explaining his latest idea to me
even before I sat down.
“I’ve got an idea for an app,” he announced.
“You? You, an 80 year old who still hasn’t learned how to
use a Typewriter, are going to create an app?”
He waved his hand. “I didn’t say I was going to program it.
I just have an-,” and before I could respond he said, “Just shut up and listen
to this idea I have about communication.”
I had to laugh. “Your idea about communication is that I
shut up?”
“Well, no. I mean, I guess yes.” He stopped and shook his
head. “See. This is why you have to just let me talk.”
“Fine.”
“I want to create something that will be better than texting
or email.” His eyes lit up and he fanned his hands like a magician,” Imagine that
when you communicate with someone you have to think about what you are saying
and compose your thoughts onto a page. Take the time to write sentences and
paragraphs. And then once you are done – a process that could take an hour or
even span days – you would have to enclose this note manually into a slender
container that you would also write upon and then take to one of thousands of
boxes scattered throughout the city. From there, someone would take it to the
person you wrote to. Then you would wait for a reply. And that reply might take
days or weeks.”
“That’s your app,” I grimace. “Really?”
“Yes!”
“Well, that’s pretty visionary. I mean, if you were living
in the 18th century. You’ve basically described the US Postal Service.”
“I know! But don’t tell the kids that!”
“Why, Bernard?”
“Well rather than encourage kids to communicate whatever feeling
disguised as a thought that would flit through their consciousness like a moth chasing a firefly, the way that texting does, it
would force them to be more thoughtful, to write about things that would still
matter in two weeks. It would teach delay of gratification, forcing them to
wait for that most essential of human needs, communication. And all of this
combined would encourage Victorian values.”
“You’ve really thought this through, haven’t you?”
“Of course. What else do I have to do with my spare time?”
“I always thought of you as more modern, Bernard. Victorian
values? Really?”
“I think we could use those,” he said, sitting back
defensively.
“Isn’t it a little late for that?”
“Maybe,” he acknowledged petulantly. “But think about how
indulgent we’ve become. It’s old people who vote Republican. They don’t do this
because they’re trying to create a better world. They do this because they are
afraid that if Democrats win the election they’ll take their money. And young people
vote Democrat. Why? Because they’re afraid that if Republicans win they won’t
let them have sex.
“Our politics aren't driven by any vision of the future. It’s
driven by fear of loss, people desperately grasping onto their little trinkets disguised as treasures."
"Well I don't know Bernard," I interrupted. "I'm middle aged. I happen to think that money and sex are pretty cool. You could have worse trinkets."
He sighed. "My point is that politics
are driven by fear of loss, not hope for gain. Victorian values would do people some good,
teach them to think about what they’re creating rather than what they have,
teach them to consider denial rather than indulgence.”
“So texting has made us short-sighted.”
“Well of course it has. How else do you explain it?”
Even with stationary and a lazy afternoon before me, I don’t
think that I could have managed a proper response.
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