from the friendly giant to a house full of screens

 

from the friendly giant to a house full of screens: oh, what a tangled web we weave

I was born in 1962. Television was part of our childhood, but it was a very different world from the one children grow up in today.

I remember The Friendly Giant and Mr. Dressup. My dad watched Hawaii Five-O. We had a few channels, and television was something families shared.

Then we moved, and suddenly we had one channel: CBC.

I was somewhere between seven and thirteen. I watched the news, including coverage of the Vietnam War. I didn't understand everything, of course, but I was listening and watching.

There were also jukebox restaurants, truckers, people travelling through and television programmes that seemed a little strange but were wonderful in their own way.

Later, we moved to Clearbrook, a very religious community. Again, television choices were limited.

And this is where my grandmother comes into the story.

When I stayed with her in Vancouver, around Ross and 51st, I remember watching The Brady Bunch and The Price Is Right.

My grandmother loved her daytime television. General Hospital, Days of Our Lives and all those programmes that became part of her daily routine.

We would sometimes fight over the television.

I didn't understand why she needed to watch her programmes. I was young, impatient and wanted to watch something else.

Today, I understand.

If you missed an episode, you missed it. There was no streaming, no recording everything, no catching up later. You waited for the next broadcast, and if you missed it, that was that.

And now, looking back, I wish I could go home again.

I wish I could sit in my grandmother's kitchen, have a cup of tea and listen to her talk. I wish I could sit beside her while she crocheted, watching her hands work while we shared an ordinary afternoon.

I wish I could tell her that I understand now.

If I could go back, we needed two televisions. But really, I wish I had understood that those little things mattered to her.

Today, our houses are full of screens and devices. Everyone can watch whatever they want, whenever they want. We have endless entertainment, endless information and the ability to communicate with almost anyone in the world.

But what have we lost along the way?

We used to gather around one television. We shared programmes, waited for the same episodes, talked about the same news and experienced things together.

Now we can all be in the same room, each staring at a different screen.

I think about how much the world has changed since those childhood afternoons. From CBC and a handful of channels to satellite dishes, MTV, international news, the internet and artificial intelligence.

I've watched wars, political upheavals, cultural revolutions, technological changes and entire generations grow up in a world I could never have imagined as a child.

And perhaps that's why I keep looking back. Not because I think everything was better then, but because I want to remember how we got here.

I also want younger generations to understand that the world didn't always work this way.

There was a time when we had to wait. When entertainment was shared. When a cup of tea and a conversation could fill an afternoon.

And when our grandmothers were still here to sit beside.

Oh, what a tangled web we weave.

We spend so much of childhood wanting to grow up, so much of adulthood trying to keep up with the world, and then one day we would give almost anything to go back for just one more afternoon.

I'd give anything to have tea in my grandmother's kitchen again.

I'd even let her watch her programmes.

Some things you only understand when it's too late to tell the person who taught you.

***

My father made home movies, and thankfully, I preserved them by converting them into video.

I have footage of my grandmother in her kitchen, possibly around 1960.

I don't have photographs of us sitting together drinking tea or watching her crochet, but I have something perhaps even more precious: moving images of her, simply being herself.

Dad couldn't have known how valuable those little films would become.

Sometimes the greatest family treasures aren't jewellery, money or possessions. They're the ordinary moments somebody thought to capture.

Thank you, Dad, for giving me the chance to visit those moments again.