PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Dusty old calculators and PDAs stacked in neat piles in the corner of a crusty cardboard box. My dad’s collection of electronic antiques grows constantly, expanding every time he visits a flea market or a garage sale, picking up antique typewriters and color-stained GameBoys. He takes each one under his wing. He takes them out of the cardboard box, cleans them out carefully, with Q-tips and alcohol, and blows them dry with a smile on his face, admiring. And then he turns them on. Most times, the light dimly flickers and quickly illuminates the screen — and his face. He grins with delight like a child on Christmas Eve. Other times, the light rapidly fades with a whimper, and my dad undertakes a new project. I watch him work endlessly in the dark of the night with a single burning light bulb, a magnifying glass and tweezers, trying to bring the contraption back to life. Sometimes he succeeds, and marvels at the machine as if it were Frankenstein’s monster brought back to life with the strike of a lightning bold. Sometimes he doesn’t. Machines aren’t made to last forever, and the more they age, the harder the process of reparation becomes. And then he arranges them meticulously in a stark crystal shelf, classified into small groups: the telephones, the keyboards, the processors, the PDAs, the calculators and the game consoles. He lights them up. He says he doesn’t have OCD, but we both know the truth. He cleans the machines carefully with a piece of cloth every week. He tries the lights every time he walks past the crystal shelf, and stops to fix them when they falter. I used to wonder why he took such great care of pieces of junk. One day, he told me. He said that every part of the machines represents a part of us. Apart, they are pieces of junk. But together — he said with a beaming smile — they create something. Something important, something full of light and full of life. When his father passed away — my grandfather — I saw my dad looking at his collection. He stared at it for a few minutes, and then opened his bag and pulled out a heavy brick-like electronic device. He held it in his hand, feeling its weight, and then placed it in the crystal shelf. He took a few steps back and looked over at me, and I could see he was happy. I understand now.