I miss music stores. I miss hearing bands I had zero interest in being played way too loud over the store’s sound system. I miss waiting in line on cold Saturday mornings in front of the ones that housed a Ticketmaster.
I was such a regular denizen of music stores, be it Nobody Beats The Wiz or Tower Records or Sam Goody, that I developed a system: I’d do a lap and stack as many CDs as I could in one hand. Then I’d do another lap and put one back after another until I was down to the two or three I could afford.
There was something special about those days, about ripping through the stubborn wrapping, flipping through the booklet – or scanning the artwork if you bought the vinyl – and reading the new lyrics for the first time.
(Remember when CDs came in ridiculous cardboard boxes that were slightly longer than War and Peace and harder to get into the D train at rush hour? Kudos to the environmentalists for putting the kibosh on those. I do, however, wish Big Macs still came in those yellow Styrofoam containers.)
Those days are over. Now buying an album means firing up your laptop, clicking the download button, grabbing a drink and voila! Music!
But for Derek, who spent early Wednesday morning at the doctor for his 18-month appointment (and earned yet another gold star), those days were never his to begin with. He’ll never have to walk into a store to buy his music. Or use a pencil to re-spool the new Poison tape before giving it back to a friend.
He’ll never have to scramble to the library just before closing because he forgot to write that three-page report on Peru due tomorrow. That’s why God invented Wikipedia, right?
He’ll never marvel at the existence of call waiting. My dad worked for the phone company, so we were one of the first to get it. I had to explain it to my friends whenever they called why I couldn’t talk.
“Hey, Robby. Can I call you back? I’m on the phone.”
Derek will never have to wait for film to be developed or sit at home so he doesn’t miss an important call, or remember to be kind and rewind before bringing a movie back to Blockbuster.
Were things better back then? I’d be lying if I said yes. Isn’t this what we always wanted – the ability to buy all sorts of stuff from the comfort of our home, away from the holiday crowds and the long lines that stretched to the back of the store?
This isn’t a case of an old man pounding his fists on the table and screaming about how better things were 20 years ago. It just amazes me all the stuff I experienced that Derek will never experience for himself. Same thing with me and my parents. I never knew what it was like to watch baseball on a black-and-white television or spend a summer without air conditioning or listen to an FM-free radio.
I’m really curious to see what’s next. How will Derek get his music? Will cell phones become even more advanced? Will any of us ever have to leave our house ever again?
Maybe iPads will become the turntables of their days – cool collector’s items you can get for real cheap at thrift stores and garage sales. Flat-screen TVs, too.
And Derek will experience things his kids will never get to experience, either. To paraphrase – and perhaps misrepresent – the words of Paul Simon, these are the days of miracle and wonder.
There are more of them on the way.
Daddyball: A baby, baseball and the game of life 