After having lunch at a restaurant with my son recently, we got into the car and I turned to look over my shoulder as I backed out of the parking space.
“Wow,” he said, “you still do that old-school.”
I had no idea what he was talking about, which is pretty much par for the course for me when it comes to conversations with members of generations that are less vintage than mine.
“What are you talking about?” I said.
“That,” he said, and he pointed to my head gazing out the back window. “You still turn around to see what’s behind you when you back up. Old-school.”
I thought he was advocating a daredevil “full speed behind and let the chips fall where they may” lifestyle, but he elaborated: “I must admit,” he said, “I never look back. I put all my trust in the backup camera.”
I checked the camera screen and had to agree that it was doing a fine job of reporting what there was to see by turning around. And it performed that trick without causing a crick in my neck or a groink in my lower back, neither of which is as limber as it used to be.
But still.
He admitted that the backup camera wasn’t always reliable, especially in winter, when the lens might be fogged by salt, sleet, or snow. When that happens, he goes all old-school and turns his head as a geezer like me would do. But he finds it an irritating and hard trick to perform, as all new-schoolers do whenever they have to abandon the technology that sustains them as their lifeblood.
Because, let’s face it, his generation and every subsequent generation since then has learned to experience life through a screen of one sort or another. TV, computer, tablet, cell phone—if they’re not staring at a screen, they feel they’re missing out on life. Point to a window and say to them, “No, life is out there, through the window, not on your screen. Look at the birds in the trees.”
They’ll glance out the window, shrug, then google “windows, birds, and trees” to see what you’re talking about.
If you don’t believe me, watch a baseball game sometime—but take a moment to look up at the people in the stands instead of the athletes on the field. Half of them, especially those of my son’s generation or younger, are watching the game with at least one eye on their cell phone. And in key must-see moments—like the last pitch of a nail-biter game with the bases loaded and the home team’s pitcher running the count up to 3-2 with two outs—all cell phones will be held up in front of faces, recording the moment, with every eye glued to the screen instead of the live-action players on the field.
Because to his generation and every subsequent generation since, it takes a screen to make real life come alive.
I have tried to convert to the 21st century by using the backup camera, especially in safe situations when I’m not risking life or limb for myself or others. Backing into a space in a parking lot, for example, when I don’t have to worry about a pedestrian, bicyclist, or Ford F150 suddenly entering the equation. But for some reason, whenever I do that, I always leave the car angled crookedly in the space, with my front bumper arching over one line as the rear bumper hovers over the other line.
“Why doesn’t this old geezer learn to park?” I imagine other drivers saying.
“Well, I used to know how to park,” I imagine answering them, “until technology unlearned me.”
I do have to admit that the backup camera comes in handy, especially when I’m parked next to a panel van or an SUV the size of a small warehouse. Without the backup camera, all you can do is creep backward until you can see what’s coming—but that means that more than half of your car is already in the crumple zone before you can see anything. The backup camera, sitting way at the back of the car, shows a bit of what might be coming from the sides, although the perspective is sort of hinky. So, yeah, the backup camera helps in a situation like that.
But still.
Of course I could break down and buy a newer car with the auto-braking or warning siren technology designed to keep you from doing something stupid. That kind of new technology would help a lot.
But I like my 2004 car just fine. It’s gotten this far without getting crumpled.
Doing it old school, just the way I like it.
TR Kerth is the author of the book “Revenge of the Sardines.” Contact him at trkerth@yahoo.com.
