For the technophiles amongst us, it would be hard to imagine not living with snazzy tech gadgets always ready at our fingertips; from the trusty laptop to the ubiquitous smartphone. So much so that a day without it would be akin to missing a limb for some!
Not really the case for my technophobic father though. Not only has he stubbornly turned his back on the relentless march of progress, the Luddite steadfastly refuses to get a cellphone. So much the better to remain uncontactable, says he. Till several weeks ago when we finally managed - after various heated family debates and discussions - to force a cellphone into his hand. All with the aid of his ever doting grandchildren of course.
Make that tape it to his wrist since otherwise he might lose it.
Perhaps it's a familial trait.
Obviously I hadn't realized then what kinda fool's trap I was setting myself up for. See, my father who's basically a retired homebody doesn't have all that many contacts on the new phone - his crotchety peers are similarly archaic - which is why my number keeps coming up on the list.
Constantly.
Paul : Did you call me?
Father : Maybe.
Paul : That's the third time you rang.
Father : Are you free?
Paul : Not really. I'm at work.
Father : Oh, then nothing.
Paul : Did you call for anything?
Father : No, just trying it out.
Paul : Anything wrong?
Father : No, I just called to see if you're free.
Paul : Oh.
And that would be after three repeated rings that caused me to would drop everything and rush over breathlessly thinking that it was a some life threatening emergency. Few people actually call me on my cellphone so it automatically makes me think of broken limbs and ruptured spleens. Nothing good obviously so you can imagine my growing panic. Only to have him drop the call when I pick it up.
Maybe it's time I added my brother's number to his contact list.
Not really the case for my technophobic father though. Not only has he stubbornly turned his back on the relentless march of progress, the Luddite steadfastly refuses to get a cellphone. So much the better to remain uncontactable, says he. Till several weeks ago when we finally managed - after various heated family debates and discussions - to force a cellphone into his hand. All with the aid of his ever doting grandchildren of course.
Make that tape it to his wrist since otherwise he might lose it.
Perhaps it's a familial trait.
 |
| Hello? Hello? Hello? Dad, you pressed my number again! |
Obviously I hadn't realized then what kinda fool's trap I was setting myself up for. See, my father who's basically a retired homebody doesn't have all that many contacts on the new phone - his crotchety peers are similarly archaic - which is why my number keeps coming up on the list.
Constantly.
Paul : Did you call me?
Father : Maybe.
Paul : That's the third time you rang.
Father : Are you free?
Paul : Not really. I'm at work.
Father : Oh, then nothing.
Paul : Did you call for anything?
Father : No, just trying it out.
Paul : Anything wrong?
Father : No, I just called to see if you're free.
Paul : Oh.
And that would be after three repeated rings that caused me to would drop everything and rush over breathlessly thinking that it was a some life threatening emergency. Few people actually call me on my cellphone so it automatically makes me think of broken limbs and ruptured spleens. Nothing good obviously so you can imagine my growing panic. Only to have him drop the call when I pick it up.
Maybe it's time I added my brother's number to his contact list.
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