“Was it boring on the weekends without the Internet?” my daughter asks.
“Sure was,” I say, thinking of how one could safely wander outside into the countryside.
“How could you get information without iPads?” she asks as I remember how I knew the names of all the plants and trees passed down from generations immemorial.
“And no TV after midnight!” she says as I recall staring out of my bedroom window in wonder at the stars, still visible before air pollution had veiled them.
“It’s a small world she inhabits,” I think, looking pityingly at my daughter clutching her smartphone.
“Sure was,” I say, thinking of how one could safely wander outside into the countryside.
“How could you get information without iPads?” she asks as I remember how I knew the names of all the plants and trees passed down from generations immemorial.
“And no TV after midnight!” she says as I recall staring out of my bedroom window in wonder at the stars, still visible before air pollution had veiled them.
“It’s a small world she inhabits,” I think, looking pityingly at my daughter clutching her smartphone.
