By Jim Hunt for the News and Journal
As a young boy, I’d wake up early on Saturday mornings and settle in front of our old black-and-white television to watch cartoons. There was Mighty Mouse, Fred Flintstone, Underdog, and my favorite of all—The Jetsons. That show offered a glimpse into a futuristic world of flying cars and high-tech conveniences, many of which resemble today’s cell phones and robotic assistants.
I watched as George Jetson struggled with his demanding boss, Mr. Spacely, and chuckled at the antics of his son, Elroy. The future looked exciting—I couldn’t wait to live in a glass-enclosed pod, perched on a stool while a robotic arm brushed my teeth and shaved my face. What a wonderful world we imagined was just around the corner.
I remember my mother cautioning me about relying too much on the new calculator I proudly brought home from Radio Shack. When I showed her its many functions, she scolded, “You’re not going to have a calculator in your pocket for the rest of your life!” How wrong she was. The world was evolving quickly, and life seemed like a magical closet filled with gadgets designed to make everything easier.
Today, when I open my iPhone 15, I hold more than just a phone. I carry a calculator, a camera, a recorder, a music player, a clock, a calendar, a photo album with over 60,000 images and videos, a health monitor, and a library of newspapers. I even have video editing tools, a heart-rate tracker, and access to my medical records. It’s as close to living like the Jetsons as we’ve ever been.
And yet—while I enjoy the benefits of modern technology—there are things from the analog world I genuinely miss.
I miss bookstores. I’d sometimes drive to Morgantown or Pittsburgh just to browse the aisles, settle into an overstuffed chair, and enjoy a cup of coffee while flipping through pages. It felt like Heaven. Driving home, I’d glance over at my stack of new books, eager to place them on my modest bookshelf and dive in.
I miss big speakers. In college, my most prized possession was a pair of towering Pioneer speakers—the largest objects in my dorm room at WVU’s Towers Dormitory. I’d lay back and listen to the Beatles or Crosby, Stills & Nash, feeling the walls reverberate with every note. That kind of immersive experience is hard to replicate with a pair of plastic AirPods.
Maybe it’s a fool’s errand to try and relive the past. I do appreciate being able to scroll through my phone in the doctor’s office instead of reading a year-old copy of Boy’s Life or Motor Trend.
Modern life has enveloped us, just as it did our parents and their parents before them. My grandparents never owned a car, a microwave, or an air fryer—but they lived full, beautiful lives. The meals from their kitchen rival anything I’ve tasted in fine restaurants around the world.
We may be living in the time of The Jetsons, but it’s still nice to remember a time when life moved a little slower, and the magic came not from our devices—but from the simple joys around us.
