I had an "old fart moment" in front of the kids:
We were heading home from an outing, just daughters and me, when I saw thick traffic ahead, at what looked like a stand still. So I turned off the main route, and was pretty confident that I could get past it all by going down some through-streets.
Sophie was doubtful. "Daddy, do you know these streets?"
I was honest. "Nope" I said.
"How do you know where you're going?" she asked.
"Sun" I said as I pointed out the passenger window while heading south.
"The sun? What do you mean?" she wondered.
I explained "The sun sets in the west. It is early evening right now. We are already east of home, so our home is to the west. Troy road is still to the south because we're not on it yet, and then we go toward the sun to get home."
"But you could use your GPS on your phone."
I sighed. "I don't want to take the time to pull over, type in the address, wait for it to find our location, then listen to that bubbly-perky voice act all backseat-driver on me. Besides, I know where I'm going. I haven't needed it before."
"How did you used to find your way?" she actually asked me.
So I gave her the back-in-my-day speech, the preamble of which she's heard a million times: "Well, growing up, we had these things called brains. And we used 'em to read these paper things called maps." (I wasn't being snide here, I don't think she's ever seen one.) "And if you pay attention in Girls Scouts, and science class when it comes up, you'll learn this stuff too." And I launched into some speech about how having a working brain is better than any smart phone ever made, yada yada, etc.
Do you think some day she'll think of me as something better than a rambling idiot? That day will come, right?
We were heading home from an outing, just daughters and me, when I saw thick traffic ahead, at what looked like a stand still. So I turned off the main route, and was pretty confident that I could get past it all by going down some through-streets.
Sophie was doubtful. "Daddy, do you know these streets?"
I was honest. "Nope" I said.
"How do you know where you're going?" she asked.
"Sun" I said as I pointed out the passenger window while heading south.
"The sun? What do you mean?" she wondered.
I explained "The sun sets in the west. It is early evening right now. We are already east of home, so our home is to the west. Troy road is still to the south because we're not on it yet, and then we go toward the sun to get home."
"But you could use your GPS on your phone."
I sighed. "I don't want to take the time to pull over, type in the address, wait for it to find our location, then listen to that bubbly-perky voice act all backseat-driver on me. Besides, I know where I'm going. I haven't needed it before."
"How did you used to find your way?" she actually asked me.
So I gave her the back-in-my-day speech, the preamble of which she's heard a million times: "Well, growing up, we had these things called brains. And we used 'em to read these paper things called maps." (I wasn't being snide here, I don't think she's ever seen one.) "And if you pay attention in Girls Scouts, and science class when it comes up, you'll learn this stuff too." And I launched into some speech about how having a working brain is better than any smart phone ever made, yada yada, etc.
Do you think some day she'll think of me as something better than a rambling idiot? That day will come, right?
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