My mother is a natural born story teller. She tells stories of the dust storms, the floods, the droughts and the rains. She tells stories of laughter, adventures and strife. She tells stories of her big family, and their home, not too far, but not too close to a very small town (a population of 100).
When asking her questions about her childhood, I noticed something. Her usual manner of breaking into story mode, did not happen. Whether it was because she had somewhere else to be, or simply because she could answer my question with a quick sentence, I do not know. Potentially if I had the chance to sit down with her and ask I may have been able to read her body language.
I live 8 hours from my mother.
When I am with her and my family we relish every moment. We laugh, we cry (usually of laughter), we smile.
However unlike the ‘Magic of Technology’, my mother and I
cannot do not communicate in the same manner over the phone as we do in person. Don’t get me wrong we have great chats, and I love this time.
But a phone call lacks presence. Something that technology at this stage cannot provide.
Throughout our phone call, I learnt about my mum’s television, and the seemingly strict rules (no eating in the lounge room -ahhh!), her favourite shows, and why she loved them. I learnt that the shows she watched as a child reflected what she let me watch as a child, that she enjoyed sitting down with us as kids and watching Play School, and that she often knew the person they were talking to through the Windows.
Play School, a show both my Mum and I watched in our childhood
I love talking to my Mum whenever I can. I can shamelessly admit this because I am not lucky enough to see her every day, and love that I can hear her voice despite her being so far away.
I am so appreciative of the magic that is technology, and the privilege of freedom to utilise it.
Despite the advanced technology we have, a phone call can not replace hearing about my mother’s television memories in person.