Clock radio confounds Dad ~ February 7, 1985

David Heiller

Have you noticed how complicated life is getting? I’m not exactly an old timer, but even in my 31 years, things have gotten pretty sticky. A good example is soda pop. Just 20 years ago, you had a choice of cola, root beer, orange, maybe Seven-Up. Sugar free? Yes, if you could stand the after-taste of an industrial drain pipe.

Noah with his 'I'm pretty clever' look.

Now, there are regular flavors covering all colors of the rainbow, with sugar-free that tastes as good as regular, plus decaffeinated, and sugar-free decaffeinated.

Radios are another good example. When I was a kid, we had one radio in the house. It sat on the buffet in the living room, with an orange face lit from within by a small light bulb. Two knobs handled the works, the left one for turning it on and controlling the volume, the right for tuning.
Saturday nights my oldest brother would bring it into the our bedroom and set in on the dresser next to the bed. He ruled over it with an iron hand tuning the dial to 1410 to listen to Lindsey Shannon play the top 25 hits. I never heard the number one song at midnight. Sleep would usually come at number 10. Then I’d have to ask one of my brothers the next morning which song was number one. Was it Duke of Earl, Town Without Pity, or Pied Purple People Eater?

That radio was a simple affair, perhaps matching the memories of a man looking back at his childhood. Our bedroom radio of today, however, is another, animal altogether. It is probably the closest thing to a computer I will ever own.

The radio has 12 knobs, buttons, and switches. It sets on my wife’s side of the bed. She too rules it with an iron hand, for the simple reason that I do not know how to operate the darn thing.

In fact, my 19-month-old son understands the radio better than I do. One afternoon last week, when Noah and I were lying on the bed, he started pushing buttons on the radio. Music began to play.

“Deet,” he said with a smile of mastery. Neat.

"Here, Daddy, do you want to
play with my firetruck?"

He started pushing more buttons. The music stopped.

“Deet,” he repeated, smiling. Neat.

He pushed more buttons, working his way down the row of knobs and switches. Music resumed. Noah smiled.

“Deet!” Neat.

That was enough for me. “Let’s go downstairs and play with your cars and trucks,” I suggested. He slid off the bed, while I turned to shut off the radio. I tried the manual on-off. No luck. How about the selector switch, with choice of buzzer, radio, and off? No luck.

The volume, no that wouldn’t work. The radio switch from a.m. to f.m.? Huh-­uh. The side button that controls the clock face from bright light to low light? No help there.

I kept pressing. Doze, sleep, time-set fast, time-set slow, alarm set. Nothing would shut it off. “Deet,” I said and followed Noah downstairs; the radio still playing.

My wife and son can have the radio. I’ll stick to toy cars and trucks.