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January 1, 2009

Mike Pound: Creeping into the 21st century

Monday night, while I drove to Bolivar to watch the Missouri Southern women’s and men’s team play basketball, my wife sat next to me and sent texts to people. In the back seat, our 10-year-old daughter, Emma, and her friend, Olivia, were sitting next to each other and sending one other instant messages.

But wait, there’s more. I also listened to music I didn’t like playing on an iPod Shuffle.

I was a 20th-century guy trapped in a 21st-century world, is what I was.

First of all, I don’t text people. I don’t text people for a couple of reasons.

Reason No. 1: I don’t know how to text people.

Reason No. B: I can’t think of anything so important to say to someone that requires a text.

And:

Reason No. 3: I can’t read the little letters on my cell phone keyboard.

I don’t send instant messages for pretty much the same reasons. And I don’t listen to music on an iPod Shuffle because I’m uneasy with products that begin with a small letter. And finally, I don’t like new music unless the new music is by someone named Jimmy Buffett.

I have become one of those grouchy old guys. I have become Mr. Wilson.

The thing is, I don’t want to be one of those grouchy old guys. I don’t want to be Mr. Wilson. But, at the same time, I don’t want to be one of those creepy old guys that tries to embrace all things new. I don’t want to be a creepy old guy who wears a baseball cap backward. A creepy old guy who has seen all of the latest movies and is into the latest music. I don’t want to be a creepy old guy who sends text messages to their children in order to stay hip. Or whatever it is kids say today to signify hipness.

If I did send text messages, I would send Emma the same text message over and over again. That text message would be brief and to the point. The text message would be “Stop it.”

But nobody wants that. Nobody wants their dad sending them the same text message over and over again.

The problem is that many people my age have adjusted to the 21st century. My friend Robert Corn has mastered the art of texting. And from what I understand, his eyes are older than mine. My wife texts all the time now. So do her friends and, let’s face it, my wife is no spring chicken. My wife knows how to use an iPod Shuffle. My wife knows how to download music. My wife can understand Emma when she talks about music.

So I don’t know. I’m starting to rethink my grouchy-old-man status. I mean, sure it was fun for a while to make fun of everything new. To say things like, “When I was a kid we didn’t need cell phones,” or “In my day, if you had something to say to someone you sent a telegram.” But after a while that sort of thing gets old. People don’t want to hear an old guy complain about new stuff.

I’m starting to realize that if I don’t get with it pretty soon I’m going to be like one of those guys who, 70 years ago, still didn’t trust that “electricity stuff.” One of those guys who still preferred his horse and buggy to the automobile. Frankly I don’t want to be one of those guys.

So I’ve made a New Year’s resolution. This year I resolve to begin to creep into the 21st century. I will build a rickety, wooden one-lane bridge into the new millennium. This year, I resolve to send and receive at least one text.

I know!

I don’t make this resolution lightly. I realize what this will mean. Not only to me, but to my family. But text I will. Of course, the first thing I will have to do is ask my wife how one goes about texting someone. Then, I guess I will have to learn that weird text shorthand that people who text use.

By the way, I was talking about all of this to Andy Ostmeyer, the metro editor at the paper. Andy is also stuck in the past century. I mentioned to Andy that I was going to have to learn text message short hand. Andy laughed and said that I have been writing my column in text-message shorthand for years.

I made a note not to put Andy on my text-message list.

Once I send a text message, I might try that instant-message thing. I’m guessing that an instant message is just a faster text. But I don’t know.

Then, who knows? I might try to download some music. Or maybe I’ll get a Facebook page, whatever that is. After that, the sky’s the limit.

There is, however, one thing I won’t do.

I will not wear a baseball cap backward.

I mean, really, nobody wants to see that.

Address correspondence to Mike Pound, c/o The Joplin Globe, P.O. Box 7, Joplin, MO 64802, or via e-mail at mpound@joplinglobe.com.

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