Former students rescue Herald writer from self-inflicted technology messes

So, it has been a productive three days of chilly weather–the new cell service did not work out (although the Magic Jack seems to be working), so that cute little phone is being returned, but the rest of the electronic challenges kept my mind off the chill.
I have said to anybody who would listen, that I am so thankful that I was a teacher for the wonderful “kids” who were in my classes. Once upon a time, in the late 1980s, somebody hauled a hulking metal monster into my classroom and asked “Where do you want it?” My reply was, “What does it do?”
That year, it did only one thing–spit out codes–which interested me not in the slightest, although one student could make it draw pictures. Another one could make the rows of letters roll with abandon, for whatever reason.
As the years passed, the computers changed, and the school system attempted to keep up with the advancements. Luckily enough, I always had students who were one step ahead of the technology and always willing to “play” on my computer, so I just sat and learned. When they had their seatwork, I had my computer screen, but they were kind enough to keep one ear alert for those times, when I hysterically shouted, “What do I do now?” as I pushed myself away from the machine, in horror that I had “torn it up.” They thought it was hilarious.
From the lines of code to pictures to games to word processors (on floppies) to the internet, it has been a heck of a ride. The students always told me that it would become more streamlined, but even they became amazed as the new technology was rolled out every year, so for a time, we all learned together.
One fateful year, near retirement, I volunteered as the yearbook advisor, when it seemed that no one else would do so, but then started trembling when I discovered that it was all on the computer. The kids shoved me back inside the room and told me not to “worry about it.”
I never did know just exactly what was going on, until the “proof” pages were returned, and then I decided that those were the smartest kids I had ever known. For years, I always had a few students who had all of my passwords, so they could get me out of whatever jam I managed to find.
And now, it has become more amazing every day. One of the reasons that I enjoy Facebook is that it enables me to keep up with former students who are now spread to all corners of the globe. Of course, they are surprised to find that, at my advanced age, I am still alive, but they are not surprised to find my interest in technology—particularly those students who were enrolled in my typing classes at RAF Feltwell in eastern England.
We had 30 typewriters for the class, but only 15 were electric, so I rotated them on a quarterly basis, so students would have experience in both, since we assumed that not everyone would ever be able to have an electric typewriter. (Rae Wagoner would be happy to know that I sponsored the newspaper–on those ghastly three-part cellophane/waxed paper packs (stencils) that had correction fluid the consistency of glue). Oh. gosh (LOL)—they remind me of that now, as we exchange banterings over Facebook. Our electric typewriters and how we had to unplug them, every time we had a fire drill (the military is very precise about those things).
Welcome 2010–I cannot wait to see what is next. In the meantime, my students, grown now--keep alert to my Facebook postings for those “What do I do now?” moments. Former students came to my rescue just this weekend, as my car ignition key would not return to the “off” position, and I was left with the decision of whether to let my battery run dead or pester my trusty neighbor, Jeff Rickard (again). We both did everything we knew to do, until it was time for the game, and I just asked him to pull the plug.
Later, some former students directed me to a reliable Web site, and I found a suggestion that seemed tame enough to try. I honestly did not know that there is a little rubber seal on the underside of the steering column that can be removed. Once removed, a pencil can be stuck up the hole, and the ignition lock can be reset. Two seconds.
That huge hulking metal monster now fits inside the palm of my hand—now, of course, right next to my pencil--but that is beside the point. Sometimes, even technology needs just a little finesse.