Oh to be Josh Baskin

When I was growing up the United States appeared to be a magical and wondrous place. My entire perception of the country was based on a regular diet of American comics, movies, and they painted a breathtaking picture of life on the other side of the pond.  It was a land of  sea monkeys and Disney World, of multi-channel TV and exotic sounding “candy”.    A country where KITT patroled the streets, Airwolf ruled the skys, and if you had a problem, and no one else could help, then maybe you could hire the A-Team. 
 
But one of the most appealing aspect of American culture was walkie-talkies. If TV and movies were to be believed, and there was no reason why they shouldn’t be, every American child lived in blissful leafy suburbia. Their best friend lived next door to them, the girl/boy of their dreams lived directly opposite, and they all communicated with each other with walkie-talkies. These were the days before mobile phones, and the very idea that you could communicate with your friends from the comfort of your own bedroom was awe inspiring.

But I didn’t have a walkie-talkie, and even if I did all my friends lived out of range. I did briefly toy with the idea of rigging up some sort of string and tin can phone system but it never really took off. So I was doomed to live out my childhood in a walkie-talkie deprived existence. A tragic tale of hardship I’m sure you’ll agree.

But life moves on, you learn to cope with the traumas of your childhood and put the scars behind you. Sure, you might get a flashback or two now and again but you struggle through and forge a new life for yourself. Until, that is, some well meaning blogging friends send your daughter a set of walkie-talkies for her fourth birthday. Then all the old wounds are opened and the pain begins once more.

But now I am an adult. An adult with a credit card.

More tomorrow.

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