By Janet Manders

Growing up, one of my favorite children’s books was “Amelia Bedelia”. I always smiled broadly at Amelia’s misunderstanding of language. Her silly behaviors that were a result of her literal interpretation of directions often had me laughing out loud. I’ll never forget when she was told to dust the furniture. Instead of grabbing a feather duster, she sprinkled dust all over the chairs, tables and couches. A classic, amusing moment in the life of Amelia Bedelia.

I thought of Amelia Bedelia the other day when someone told me the joke about a woman who texted her husband with the message, “Windows frozen, won’t open.” In his electronic response, he advised her to pour some lukewarm water over it and then gently tap the edges with a hammer. Ten minutes later she texted him back to say, “Computer really messed up now.”

The potential for texting miscommunications, similar to that poor couple’s experience, has been an ongoing topic of conversation between my friends. Several in my circle have reached the conclusion to significantly limit their use of technology to converse with others. Because of the inherent challenges, they especially avoid texting. I understand their desire to avoid the potential misinterpretations that exist. And yet, I have chosen to keep using tools offered on my various electronic devices for chatting with friends and family.  I’m willing to take the risks to stay connected to my children, as well as my young grandchildren who are fascinated by and quickly increasing their use of technology.  I believe my commitment to remaining current with what the younger generation has in their back pocket is the best way to stay a part of their world. On the other hand, I have to admit, it’s also leading to more frequent Amelia Bdelia moments in my life.

The other day I was providing childcare for my seven-year-old granddaughter, Cora and her one-year-old brother, Zay. Zay was napping in his crib, on the second floor, while Cora was in her bedroom coloring. As usual, her tablet was right next to her for further entertainment. Capitalizing on what I hoped would be a few minutes of peace and quiet, I told Cora I would be in the backyard and then added that she should call me if Zay woke up. Shortly after settling into a cushioned patio chair with my book, the sliding glass doors opened. There was Cora with a bright red face, carrying her twenty-five pound brother. Dangling in her quivering arms, his feet were only two inches from the ground. Thoughts of the flight of stairs she had just navigated with her heavy load had me shuddering. I jumped up to grab the wiggling bundle from Cora. Once he was safe in my arms, I gently scolded, “Cora. I told you to call me when Zay woke up.”

She simply replied, “Grandma. I did call you. You didn’t answer.”  Then looking around she asked, “Where is your phone anyway?”  Her call had come via the messenger app on her tablet to my phone which was inside the house on the kitchen table. Clearly, between the two of us,  there were different ideas of what “call” meant.

There’s no doubt in my mind, as my grandchildren become more proficient with technology and the language of a different generation, our Amelia Bdelia moments will only increase. I can resist the misunderstandings by putting my phone away. Or, I can keep it closer to my side to experience the silly little mishaps that will occur. And to enjoy the ensuing grins, that I wouldn’t trade for anything.

© 2024 Janet Manders

Janet is a newly retired Occupational Therapist who enjoyed a career of working with Public School Teachers to support students to be successful academically, socially, and emotionally. She has always enjoyed books and is currently working on a memoir along with picture books for children.