iPod? Oh Dad, you're such a loser!

I hope Pea doesn't minimize the experiences of others.

My mom came over for a visit tonight and mentioned that my dad's work computer had crapped out on him. The computer my dad uses as work is an old computer of mine; a gift from them that got me through university, one lonely year spent living in Ottawa and one year of marriage. Simply put, this computer is old.

How old, you ask? If we were to translate techno years into human years, that would make this computer 131 years old. People would be coming from all around the world to study this computer's DNA and diet to see exactly what has made it last so long. Geraldo Rivera would do an exposé on this computer's fraudulent age claims only to be shamed into silence when it is revealed that the computer actually is 131 years old. The computer would then sue Geraldo Rivera for slander, win untold sums of money in an out-of-court settlement and use these funds to refurbish itself, thereby extending its life by another 100 (human) years. This cycle would inevitably repeat itself, with Geraldo Rivera being replaced by Ryan Seacrest in the second go-around. That's how old this computer is.

To my incredible surprise, mom mentioned that dad was wondering if he had access to another computer with a "diskette" drive so he could transfer some old files he had already saved years ago.

Diskette.

DISKETTE!

I nearly choked on my catfish and potato dinner when I heard that term. We seem so far removed from the diskette era. DVD burners, memory keys and external hard drives now make the diskette seem like this Gen-X'ers version of the "8-track" or "Betamax" player. Diskettes are old, daddy-o, no one uses those anymore, get with it man.

Then, of course, it all hit me like a tonne of bricks. I know what a diskette is. I have used one many times. In fact, I still have a fancy diskette holder from my university days kicking around the home office. But Pea, no, she will never know the magic and mystique of the diskette. She will never know the glorious hum of a quarter-inch thick piece of plastic spinning from within her computer.

Come to think of it, she'll probably never know the magic and mystique of a computer, what with the future's inevitable leap towards mind/machine melding and brain-implanted hard drives/Internet web browsers.

Wait. The Internet? That'll be obsolete too... replaced by downloadable brain-expansion cards that automatically implant the sum total of the world's knowledge directly into her left brain.

As I sat thinking about what technologies have come and gone throughout my lifetime, and what technologies lie ahead for my sweet Pea, I resolved to never again mock the dated technological and cultural references of my parents, family members and older colleagues. It is clear that I'm moving quickly towards being horribly outdated myself... I need to distance myself from this type of good-natured mockery before those a generation ahead of me begin to glance my way with that How does it feel now jerk air I most definitely deserve.

So, to all those a generation ahead of me, I apologize. Your experiences are not funny. They are badges of honour you should wear with pride for they represent a life well lived.

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she doesn't minimize the experiences of others.

Ok, wait. I'll stop mocking most experiences. But I can't possibly be expected to give up my mockery of those who wholeheartedly embraced the Disco-era. I mean, c'mon... they made their beds a long time ago...