My Old, Obsolete Knowledge

The museum had radios from the 1920’s and an original Edison record player. They had rotary phones with a working switchboard, and an early TV camera hooked up to an old TV. After that came the room full of old computers—and that’s where the experience changed, for me. I recognised them. I remember one of them sitting on the desk when I was growing up. I know how to put the floppy disks in those slots, and flip down the lock. The ATARI game system in the corner—the one my kids thought was so ancient—was the one I used to play on. I can show you how to blow on the cartridges to keep them working, if you want me to. But why would you?

Across from the ATARI, there were mobile phone models that I used to own displayed in a glass case. The stuff I used to carry in my pocket—in a museum display! I still remember how to type out texts with the number pad, pushing the 3 twice for an “e” and the 7 four times for an “s”. I guess that skill isn’t all that useful anymore.

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The Illustration (a poem)

I’ve been taught by a lot of people over the years. In school and university, in trainings, Bible studies, and more sermons than I can count. I know it all shaped me, slowly, bit by bit, and I do remember a few things, here and there—the real stand-out, mic-drop moments—but most of the specifics of what they said are gone now. What I remember most is not the teaching itself, but the people who taught me. I remember their faces, their lives, and the way they interacted with me and others. I remember if they cared about what they said, and if they cared about me. I remember their sincerity—or hypocrisy.

Continue reading The Illustration (a poem)