after throwing a load of laundry in the washer, I was leading my daughter upstairs from the basement. she plopped herself down in front of the Commodore 64 that was laying about and said, “wait — I have to email”
I kid you not —
I think that’s her “you’ve got mail”-face.
the mouse wasn’t ‘working’ so she tried to plug it in; I started getting into the details of DB9 vs. the DIN serial port, but she abandoned the effort. I urged her to continue on upstairs with “we can see if your email got through to my laptop…” she stopped ‘typing’, rested her hands on the keyboard, and said to me with all seriousness, “this is my work.”
YIKES — she must have heard that once or twice before (or a hundred times)…
then she held her hand up, thumb and forefinger extended, and said something about ’email’ — K would later tell me that she was ‘handing’ me the email; something her and her bff do because they don’t seem to understand the Interwebs yet. (apparently they’ve played this email game before.)
the scary thing is that they will understand, and on a different level than me or anyone in my generation. the Internet has only really been around for half of my life; she’ll never know life without it. I doubt my daughter has any concept of sitting down and writing a letter to someone (via snail mail) — but she already knows email.
and YouTube (aka “BARNEY SONG! BARNEY SONG!”), but that’s another post.