MY PARENTS ABANDONED ME. As a child, my family locked up their remote Bethells Beach bach and started the trek back along the beach to go home. I was still in the bach, immersed in a comic in some corner. I resurfaced to find the place dark, deserted, and dead-locked. Terror! I escaped through a window and ran after them, racing half a kilometre along the beach to catch up with a family that, I think, should have been a lot more shocked and apologetic than they were. Home Alone is a re-traumatising horror movie for me.
I hate being left behind. I still recall that panicky feeling of scrambling to catch up on schoolwork if I missed a few days; that feeling that everyone knew what to do except me. I felt I lagged behind my mates at important milestones: they got their drivers’ license before me, owned cars before I did, and were dating girls while I stammered with shyness. Perhaps if I had objectively looked at the whole range of my peers, I probably wouldn’t have been slow at reaching those goals; I was probably typical, but I did the very typical thing of comparing myself with those who excel.
I consoled myself with a little fib that being left behind on the sports field or dance floor was of no concern to me because I excelled at something else – being a nerd. My nerdy heart especially thrilled at computers, like the ones on sci-fi TV shows: huge glamorous machines covered with flashing lights and switches and spinning reels of tape. Star Trek, Lost in Space, Thunderbirds, Voyage to the Bottom of Sea … no spaceship or nuclear sub was complete without an electronic brain. And so, with high expectations, I joined Mr. Felton’s Computer Club at high school.
In the first meeting, he covered the blackboard with flow diagrams. I stuck up my hand: “When are we actually going to get to use a computer?” Mr. Felton took a paper clip, straightened one end and put it in my hand. With that high-tech tool, we would be punching holes in program cards, which he would then take to the computer at the university to run. I never made it to another meeting.
Disillusioned, I let my interest in computers lapse until suddenly, a few years later, I had to actually use one; and I discovered I had been left behind.
After university (where I was also left behind), I got a job at Auckland Hospital, where part of my role was to use (skip to the end of this sentence if you have a low tolerance for geekiness) a DEC PDP-8L computer that came with a massive 4kB of RAM and a 32kB hard drive. Some of you have houseplants with more computing power than that, but I was impressed. It was the size of two fridges, loaded up off paper tape, had a room to itself, and made so much noise it was hard to converse next to. And it did have lots of flashing lights and switches. My old love for computers surged. Bliss!
A small complication clouded my joy: I had no idea how to use the thing … and I was supposed to use it. Perhaps in the job interview, I should have clarified what I meant by “Yes” when asked if I was familiar with computers: “Yes” meant I had a paper clip.
What really showed me how far I’d slipped behind was going into a computer shop and overhearing some high-schoolers not many years younger than me talking computer jargon … and I didn’t have a clue what they were talking about. In less than a decade, schools had moved from paper clips to real computers; these kids probably even had ‘microcomputers’ like Apples and TRS80s at home – computers actually more powerful than my quickly outdated hospital monster. How galling: I wasn’t even any good at being a nerd. So, once again, that familiar sensation … that panicky feeling of being left behind, trying to catch up with those who had a head start on me.
I found that if I picked the right people to compare myself with, I could very reliably feel like I was slipping backwards. Some friends married before me; I knew others whose careers leap-frogged over mine – they had cars, houses, and boats that I didn’t. I wasn’t winning the race … but it dawned on me: who said it was a race, anyway? And are they really running in a direction I want to go?
A little thing I am rather proud of: some years ago, a friend asked me what I did. So, I told them about the strange mix of writing, speaking, broadcasting, and other things I was doing, and he said, “So basically, you just get paid to be John Cowan?” It had taken me a long time to realise that I’d never be very good at being somebody else – I’d always be getting left behind – but when it comes to being me, I’m the most qualified person around.
AFTER DECADES STUDYING FAMILY LIFE, JOHN NOW FOCUSSES ON THE ‘PRIME-TIME’ ISSUES OF LATER MIDDLE AGE. CHECK HIM OUT ON JOHNCOWAN.CO.NZ – ESPECIALLY IF YOU NEED SOME WRITING, EVENT SPEAKING, VIDEOS MADE, OR SOMEONE TO HAVE A COFFEE WITH.
