Dreams of the Big Chief

The last time everything worked as it was supposed to in the world of communication was when I was in first grade, making my letters with a fat, red pencil and a Big Chief tablet. The paper was a horrid, grainy texture and the pencil, which was a little like writing with a canoe paddle, didn’t even have an eraser, but when you applied the lead to the light gray lines on the page you ended up with words, every time, no sign-ins, no passwords, no problems. You weren’t connected to the world, just to yourself, which has become harder and harder to do, and of course there was the Big Chief. He sat on the front of your writing pad, ever guarding your written work, without benefit of a server or a firewall, and I never remember wanting to throw him through the nearest window.