My son bugged unremittingly until I replaced my old cell phone with one that offered GPS services. He was sure that happenstance was the only reason I ever arrived anywhere.
Before my next road trip, the phone was programmed with my location and destination and lay cushioned on the passenger seat like an electronic umbilicus. Next to it were my daughter’s handwritten directions which I would hide before pulling into my son’s driveway. He doesn’t understand the comfort of a paper I can read myself or shake under his nose the day the signals die. (See: American Pie)
I’m the Mom because I’ve been jolted out of smugness more than he has. He’s wise in many ways but sometimes his imagination fails for lack of experience. Computers have always been part of his life. He can’t envision a day, for instance, when traffic jams disrupt orbiting signals. (NY Times, Colliding Satellites). To tell the truth, neither can I; but I’ve been jolted enough to know that denying the possibility of something is generally shortsighted: “There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, [t]han are dreamt of in your philosophy.” *
As I turned left toward the freeway, the GPS voice was irritatingly indifferent to outcomes – possessed of cadences that would sail through a nuclear strike so long as batteries and towers escaped the melting.
During the first half hour of the trip, I was pleased to ignore her– to wrest control. When I passed the second turn in favor of the third, she had no quippy comeback. The car was silent except for the burring of my own anticipation. How much stress was built into the system?
Like a Terminator, relentless in its dedication to mission, the GPS re-configured herself; aligned herself to new data and surroundings. “Recalculating route,” she said.
I glanced in the rearview mirror and made a Frodo-vow to leave her in my pocket except under the direst of circumstances.
After three hours into a two hour trip, the four lane highway had tapered to a stream trickling between vacant motels and closed gas stations. I hadn’t seen a familiar landmark for miles and the winter sun was dimming. At a crossroads in a small town, I turned the phone back on, finger poised to enter my new orientation. Without missing a beat, her uninflected tones assured me she was again, “Recalculating the route.”
In the silence, I felt her omnipresence. She would always know where I was. I would never be lost again. “[She]wouldn’t stop, [she] would never leave [me]. [She]…was the only thing that measured up. In an insane world, [she] was the sanest choice.” (Terminator 2).**
Notes and Citations
Phases of Stockholm Syndrome. (Police Chief Magazine) Stockholm Syndrome relies on a person being unaware of their shift in perspective – from a view of the captor as enemy to the captor as rescuer. When we are lost, we turn to whomever or whatever convinces us of their power to rescue us.
**If you haven’t read Erich Fromm’s Escape from Freedom, you might give it a try. You can browse it online and then order it through a local bookstore. (My personal favorite is Hamish & Henry Booksellers in Livingston Manor, NY. but the link to their new website isn’t working. In the meantime, their phone number is: 845-439-8029.) If you have a different favorite bookstore, please post in the “comments” section.
* I think the hardest and best thing about parenting is watching our children lose their blind faith in authority and gain faith in themselves. It’s a brilliant and terrible thing.