All Keyed Up

Some advances in technology were done without my permission. Take new-fangled car keys for instance. Anyone who has had a five-month-old knows that there is a specific hierarchy of interesting objects in this world to see, hold, drop, chew on, drool over and otherwise destroy. The top of this list is car keys. They jingle, they shimmer, they have a mesmerizing array of textures and shapes. Many toy manufacturers have tried to capture the magic of car keys in various forms: large, chunky keys; keys that sing; keys that light up; keys that give you the weather. But none are as interesting as the original.

Once upon a time, I could give my child the car keys in certain moments of desperation (church, bank, library) and he/she would actually stay focused for upwards of 30 seconds. These days, however, technology has greedily taken over the key realm (as it has all other areas of life) and robbed me of this ability. In the right hands, my "magic black key button" can remotely unlock the car, open the trunk, adjust the seats, open the sunroof, turn on or off the car-alarm, get a satelite image of Belize, and order a pizza. But in the wrong hands (short, fat ones, that routinely approach the mouth), the same technology could cause the car to unlock itself, roll down all the windows, turn on the radio full-blast, and do the Macarena in the parkinglot.

I am sure that one day when all of my children have outgrown the desire to hold, jingle, and chew on the car keys, I will appreciate the advancements of modern technology. But as for now, I miss the simple life when the most dangerous thing about my keys were millions of germs and sharp edges.

Sigh...