The other evening I was on my daily walk; even during the cold winter you have to get those 10,000 steps in, you know, for longevity. The things we do to hang on to dear old life. Anyway, there was this perfect sunset over a field covered in snow, so I took out my iPhone, which was counting my careful steps, and took a photograph of this majestic end to the day. After I was through admiring the photo and sharing it instantly with friends and family, I suddenly realized that I had the world in my hands! Anything I wanted to know, or see, was in my hands, and all that I needed to do was to click! It is really amazing how far we’ve come with technology, so much so that some of us can’t even use a pen or write in cursive anymore! There’s little left to wonder about anymore, just google it!
On my way back from my walk I began to reminisce about my youth, my teenage years in the 60s. Now every generation, I’m sure, thinks that their teenage years were the best. For me, 1965 to 1970, in Belize, were the best of the best for us, heading towards adulthood. We had no cars, no phones, some of us were lucky enough to own a bicycle and a transistor radio. Our music came from BHBS, British Honduras Broadcasting Service, later Radio Belize. What a station that was! Caribbean music, Latin music, American music, which included jazz, country, blues and soul music. On Saturday afternoons we listened to Top of the Pops from the BBC, with all the latest British pop music. Sunday evenings were a heavy dose of Mahalia Jackson and religious/gospel music. Then later in the evening, Everald Waight would play classical music and recite poetry, in his deep baritone. So we had a very good musical foundation.
We would go to house parties, dressed up in our banlon shirts and polyester bell foot pants, and boots, or loafers. We smelled of English Leather, or Brut, or Old Spice perfume. We had to have that gold chain, or you weren’t properly dressed, and most of us young men lied about our female conquests! We were innocent and carefree, didn’t know that we were poor; it didn’t matter. We fought with our fists, and we all went on our way to live another day. There was turmoil in the world, but we lived in a bubble, enjoying the joys of youth. Oh! The miniskirts, oh the miniskirts!!
My point to all this is that I would willingly give up the iPhone, and all the other tech toys and sites we seem to not be able to live without today, for those days of innocence and wonder and awe and amazement. That time between childhood and becoming an adult. When you forced your sideburns or your mustache to grow. Showing off in front of the beautiful, enticing girls, as long as you didn’t drop inna kinel. For me, it was the best of times. We didn’t have much, but we didn’t know that. We just truly enjoyed what we had. And we were better for it.
“Where are the songs of spring, aye, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too!”—John Keats, “Ode to autumn”.
Glen