Column: Tales From Exit 22

There were birds perched in midair.

They looked as if they were resting upon utility wires, except there were no wires, just birds.

The birds had adopted wireless technology.

I spend a lot of time over there watching loved ones play basketball. I sit on uncomfortable bleachers and cheer loudly and encouragingly.

During one halftime, I watched a woman play a game in which I was unfamiliar. It had nothing to do with basketball other than she was playing it in a gym where basketball was played. The woman was playing an odd game of blocks on her iPad.

In addition to the books, newspapers and iPads being perused during lulls in action, I have spotted Kindles, Nooks, DVD players, iPods, MP3s and cell phones. Cell phones galore — the eyes of texting are upon them. They give us the opportunity to yell in public without the threat of being institutionalized.

The ubiquitous cell phone is found in nearly every free hand. It’s more common than the pencil. We’ve become so connected we are disconnected. I expect that one day soon, a player will be shooting free throws, will sink the first shot, and then pause to Tweet of his success.

We stay in touch for fear of being out of touch. I grew up in a time when we were hard to find. We weren’t tagged with tracking devices as we are today. People didn’t know where we were. If a person didn’t grow up with these newfangled communications, it is easy to be dumb about them. Acquiring new skill sets comes easiest to hatchlings.

You should get a computer, people told me.

I asked why.

So you could look things up.

I look things up. I have dictionaries and encyclopedias.

Wikipedia has appropriated the habitat of the ancient encyclopedias making the reference books nearly extinct today. You could send e-mail, they said.

I dismissed that suggestion by calling it CB radio with typing.

At least you could get a cell phone. They didn’t give up.

Why?

To call people, they’d sigh.

I call people now.

You could call them from wherever you are.

I call people from wherever I am as long as we both have a phone. If they don’t have a phone, I don’t call them.

I thought the latest technological revolution involved the eight-track tape, and I had managed to avoid that. I wasn’t a complete Luddite. I knew how to program a VCR. I was never going to have a computer or a cell phone. Never say “never.”

Time passed. I own a computer. I have a cell phone that accompanies me most places. I’m having a crown put in, and the dentist says I can get one with wi-fi. Who knows what will be next? You get one of these devices and it opens a Pandora’s box of electronic communications. They are more monkey than a barrel of fun.

These gadgets have lasting merit. I’ll admit to reading e-mails and e-books while waiting for basketball games to begin. I’ve never played a game on one. I see people attempting to master electronic solitaire and more power to them. It’s not for me.

I played a video game once. A nephew asked if I wanted to play basketball. I agreed quickly. He was short and young. I’d demolish him. I was disappointed when he began hooking things up to the TV instead of grabbing a basketball. He assured me that it was still basketball, and I figured that I’d be OK. I’d played basketball.

I was wrong. He was ahead 173-0 before I’d learned which button I pushed to move my player. He taunted me. I quit. Was I a sore loser? You bet. You get beat 173-0 and you can’t help but be sore.

Wireless devices have brought change, that’s no bulletin. If Goldilocks broke into the Three Bears’ house today, she would check her e-mail on Baby Bear’s smartphone, download music on Mama Bear’s laptop computer and watch a Justin Bieber video on Papa Bear’s desktop. She’d never get to sample the porridge.

I took my cell phone out at halftime of a basketball game. I’d had it for only a few months and was still discovering its nuances. Crickets chirped occasionally. A whippersnapper seated next to me looked over and said, “I see you have a dinosaur.”

“What?”

“You have one of the old models. An antique,” he clarified.

He thought he was on the cutting edge.

Ha! I’d like to see him dial a rotary phone.

Hartland resident Al Batt’s columns appear every Wednesday and Sunday.