We had enough to eat then, though the food wasn’t of a high quality or nutritional value. Many nights were spent on the couch with a plate of pizza rolls shared between our knees. The pizza rolls were cooked unevenly(frozen on one side, red hot lava on the other) in the microwave that once belonged to your grandmother, the one with the fake wood grain on the sides that weighed thirty pounds. The microwave we have now is small, and black, with a gleaming stainless steel handle. It weighs next to nothing, as microwave ovens go.
We were talking the other night about how technology has changed around us as we’ve grown older. The bedroom of our first apartment was halfway taken up by a large computer desk with a white behemoth Gateway computer. I bought it on credit, paid for it in installments. Many hours of The Sims were played on its nicotine stained keyboard, and many White Stripes songs were pirated within its heavy motherboard.
Our son will not know a time without sleek black or shiny white electronics. He won’t know the quaint comfort of tube televisions, housed in cabinet slabs of dark wood, heavy grey glass screens flickering green after too much use. He won’t know what it feels like to sit too close, legs crossed on scratchy green shag carpet. He won’t understand what it was to flick a knob and uncover the fuzzy, hyper-color mysteries of the bizarre UHF channels. He will not know these particular feelings but he will have his own, ones that we will likely not share. This is the way the world works.