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While everyone is celebrating the 25th birthday of IBM's PC, the British CB has reached that same mark, albeit much more silently. People tend to not look at things that died a slow and silent death. We all communicate through computers now, anyway, which means the IBM PC is the thing to be remembered, but it isn't the thing I remember, because my Papa was (and still is!) a radio amateur, or ham.
Once a month Papa would go on a strange excursion: to meet the guys of the radio amateur club he was a member of. Yes, it's a man's world, tinkering with electronics and sending stuff through the ether. Papa told me once they had one woman in their midst, but she never came to the meetings – boozing and smoking with the lads simply wasn't her thing, I presume. Back in the day, the ladies one could encounter through the airwaves generally were XYLs, unlicenced wives or daughters of male radio amateurs, using their husband's or father's callsign. What a gender-gap it was! It must have been decades ago.
It was decades ago. I was only a little kid when I saw Papa calling total strangers on the other side of the world and win the local fox-hunt. I was mistified about all the equipment he had in his room, and I clearly remember the sound of the Mexican dog when you turned the knob to change the frequency. Being Papa's little girl I wanted to know how it all worked, maybe even doing it myself one day. But I never did.
By the time I was old enough to be seduced into becoming another XYL, our home was computerised (first with what I believe was a Commodore or an Atari, and later a no-brand 486), and Big Sis and I would play silly games. The first version of internet I encountered, did use Papa's radio equipment, but I never looked at it. I grew up too much a girl to be tinkering with electronics. Or me and Papa fought too much, and I really didn't want to be like him.
Whatever the reason I never explored it, I do miss it sometimes, that boyish streak I used to have: Playing with cars, watching Papa totally wreck the tv and then put it together again, wanting to be a pilot even... I am genuinely surprised that I ended up in one of the most female dominated fields.
Once a month Papa would go on a strange excursion: to meet the guys of the radio amateur club he was a member of. Yes, it's a man's world, tinkering with electronics and sending stuff through the ether. Papa told me once they had one woman in their midst, but she never came to the meetings – boozing and smoking with the lads simply wasn't her thing, I presume. Back in the day, the ladies one could encounter through the airwaves generally were XYLs, unlicenced wives or daughters of male radio amateurs, using their husband's or father's callsign. What a gender-gap it was! It must have been decades ago.
It was decades ago. I was only a little kid when I saw Papa calling total strangers on the other side of the world and win the local fox-hunt. I was mistified about all the equipment he had in his room, and I clearly remember the sound of the Mexican dog when you turned the knob to change the frequency. Being Papa's little girl I wanted to know how it all worked, maybe even doing it myself one day. But I never did.
By the time I was old enough to be seduced into becoming another XYL, our home was computerised (first with what I believe was a Commodore or an Atari, and later a no-brand 486), and Big Sis and I would play silly games. The first version of internet I encountered, did use Papa's radio equipment, but I never looked at it. I grew up too much a girl to be tinkering with electronics. Or me and Papa fought too much, and I really didn't want to be like him.
Whatever the reason I never explored it, I do miss it sometimes, that boyish streak I used to have: Playing with cars, watching Papa totally wreck the tv and then put it together again, wanting to be a pilot even... I am genuinely surprised that I ended up in one of the most female dominated fields.
