ThinkingAgain.com
Profile of a Prime Timer - "The Good Old Days"
By Nardi Reeder Campion
We true prime-timers were here before the Pill, the population explosion and disposable diapers. We were here before we were called "senior citizens."
We were here before TV, penicillin, polio shots, antibiotics and open-heart surgery. Before frozen food, nylon, Xerox, radar, fluorescent lights, credit cards, ballpoint pens, Frisbees and fiber optics.
For us, time-sharing meant togetherness, not computers or condos. Coeds never wore jeans. Girls wore Peter Pan collars. We were here before panty hose and drip-dry clothes, before icemakers and dishwashers, clothes dryers, freezers and electric blankets. Before men wore long hair and earrings and before women wore tuxedos.
We were here before Ann Landers, Grandma Moses and the Kinsey Report. We were here before facelifts, tummy tucks, liposuction and hair transplants. We thought cleavage was what butchers did. We were here before sex changes. Before Viagra. We just made do with what we had.
We were here before computers. A mouse pad was where mice hung out. To log-on was to add wood to fire. A chip was a piece of wood. Hardware meant hardware, and software wasn't even a word. A hard drive was a long, grueling journey. A CD was something you invested in. Windows were for looking out of. A virus was a flu bug that people caught. Backing up was what you hoped never happened to your toilet, especially when you had company.
We were here before vitamins, Jeeps, pizza, Cheerios, instant coffee, decaffeinated anything, light anything and McDonald's. We thought fast food was what you ate during Lent. If we had been asked to explain VCR, CIA, NATO, UFO, PMS, GNP, MBA, BMW, SDI, NFL, PSA and ATM, we'd have said "alphabet soup."
We prime-timers are a hardy bunch when you think of how our world has changed, all we have learned and the adjustments we have made. I'm pretty proud of us.
Let's keep in touch. Just e-mail me, send a fax, leave a message on my answering machine or call me on my cell phone. If I don't answer, tell my voicemail you called – after the beep, leave your name, your number and a brief message, and I'll get back to you as soon as I can. If you need me quickly, call my pager. If all else fails, come on over to my house, take a seat in one of the rockers on my porch and we'll visit the old-fashioned way – face to face and in person – and let the rest of the world go by.
By Nardi Reeder Campion
Reprinted by permission of Nardi Reeder Campion © 2000, from Chicken Soup for the Golden Soul by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen, Paul J.
Meyer, Barbara Russell Chesser and Amy Seeger.
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