To whom or what generation might I be the expert or “know it all?” The answer may be some of those members of the greatest generation to whom I often refer. This includes my own father. Let me tell you a little story about a man named “Bud.” A hard working dry farmer who certainly kept his family fed. Like me, he resisted the updates or convenience devices that started to surface in the last few years of his life.

Let’s take Caller ID for example. Thankfully, cellphones never entered his world; a landline was the only communication tool he used other than face to face, sitting on the front porch, conversation. Often, when I called, dad would not answer. I would wait a few minutes and try again, still no answer. I tried to give him ample rings to travel the distance between where I knew his recliner chair sat beneath the 70s swag lamp and the trimline phone on the kitchen counter. This trimline model was one of the few luxury upgrades (from the rotary style desktop one I grew up using) Mom splurged to purchase.

“You didn’t answer earlier, you had me worried” I would say. “Well,” he would grumble, “I wasn’t sure who it was. Maybe it was somebody I didn’t want to talk to!” This is when I would encourage him to spend the $5 a month for the new caller ID service that was becoming all the rage. “My number will show up, or Craig’s or Scott’s and then you’ll know, no big deal, just get one,” I would retort. “Nope, too expensive. It’s not necessary” was always his answer. How many times did I hear that phrase growing up?!

Instead, we developed a cost free system, I would call, and let it ring once before hanging up. Then a few seconds later, I would call again and he would answer happily, ready to chat. This eased his fear of unwanted intrusions on his crossword puzzle time. I humorously learned that a few months after mom died, there was a single gal of his approximate demographic who was keenly interested in a dinner date; but he was not. She frequently called and kept him occupied on the phone much longer than he desired. He finally got her to quit calling. That is a story for another time that is proof of my dad’s sense of humor.

More than once, during our Sunday evening West Virginia to Idaho visits, I suggested he buy a computer. I tried to sell the virtues of email for us to communicate as his handwriting was hard to read. I used his favorite card game of Solitaire as a selling point as most models came with an installed version that he could enjoy. He was a fastidious bookkeeper of his finances and farm maintenance records. Transferring all his handwritten ledgers to the computer would make doing his taxes easier. Again I heard, “Nope, not interested, too expensive. It’s not necessary.” I abandoned the idea and continued to look forward to our phone calls and the occasional note in the mail that often had a $50 bill included. “Long distance is expensive, this should help pay the bill. Please don’t stop calling.” I saved a couple of those correspondences in my drawer of memories...priceless.

To send me those love notes and pay his bills, dad had to buy postage stamps. (I never stole his stamps to sell door to door, just his silver quarters). One evening, he was excited to tell me a story on himself. With a giggle in his voice he began, “I bought a roll of stamps a couple weeks ago and was starting to think they were defective. The things wouldn’t stick. I licked them, even used water on my finger, but they just kept falling off the envelopes”. He continued with, “I finally got the Scotch tape out and started taping em on!”.

It took a friendly visit, on the front porch perch he loved, from our mail carrier to educate him and solve the dilemma of “why won’t these stamps stick?!” The mailman explained to him that these new postage stamps were self-adhesive. “Bud”, he said, “you don’t have to lick them anymore or use Scotch tape. Just peel them off the roll and slap them on the envelope!.” Dad and I shared a good laugh as he finished the story. “ I sure felt stupid, but I guess I don’t know everything nowadays”, he sheepishly admitted.

Dad’s life was no worse off as a result of being resistant to late 20th century developments. He was old fashioned and efficient. What on earth might he now think or how would he handle the changes of a faster paced life to which we have all accommodated? What’s coming next? AI generated phone calls? QR codes replacing stamps? Heaven help me!