I sifted through the clutter in the storeroom, picking up items one by one. The disarray suggested it had become a repository for items my parents deemed obsolete. No wonder my novels ended up here. I was coated in dust, triggering frequent sneezing. I decided to stop since my search was fruitless, only to spot an object tucked behind the back of the door.
I raised it from the floor and shouted our youngest sibling's name, "Comfort! Comfort! Come see what we have here!" Carefully, I set it on the glass coffee table, hoping its weight wouldn't cause any damage.
"What's this box with a screen? She inquired as she toyed with the knob in front.
I placed my hand on it and tapped it twice. "This, darling, is a television. It's called a black-and-white television."
Comfort glanced at me with wide eyes, then at the television, and back at me before a laugh burst from her pursed lips. Despite her attempts to suppress it, the laughter floated through the air, echoing off the walls. She bent down, slapping her knees repeatedly with one hand, the other clutching her stomach, and tears streaming down her eyes. Not that I didn't anticipate that reaction.
"You mean you actually watched movies with this?" she asked after regaining control. "How did images fit into this small screen? And you said it's a black-and-white television; what does that even mean?"
"It meant the images were black and white. We couldn't discern the colors of dresses, cars, or houses in the scenes," I explained.
"I'm sorry, Big Sis. I don't mean to laugh, but how can anyone enjoy that? I can't imagine watching this when I'm so used to smart TVs," she remarked, pointing at the 58-inch television hanging on the wall adorned with beautiful wallpapers.
"Well, my darling, sit down and let me tell you more about it."
I settled into the double-settee leather chair while she opted for the center rug, leaning on the table with her gaze fixed on me.
"Back in the late 80s and early 90s, black and white TVs were common household items in most homes. Only the elites could afford a color television, which still came in the same form as this," I explained.
She adjusted her sitting position, stretching out her legs with arms wrapped across her chest as she listened. Despite being sixteen, her face still retained its innocence, and she had her mouth in a slight pout, a habit she displayed when deeply engrossed.
"The television needed an outdoor antenna to function, but that's not even the funniest part. I remember back then, Father would ask me to go outside and turn the pole hosting the antenna. While turning, I'd be asking if it's clear, and he would respond, 'No, go a little left, left again, it's okay. Don't turn it again,'" I reminisced.
Comfort burst into laughter again, her contagious guffaw sounding more like an evil cackle than an expression of amusement. I couldn't help but join in, and our laughter echoed across the room. It was no surprise when my mother, who had been napping, walked into the sitting room.
"What's this doing here, and why are you guys laughing so hard?" She asked, her eyes filled with curiosity, moving from one person to another.
"Mummy, all I can say is thank God for technology. Big Sis was just telling me the hell you guys went through to watch television. I can't believe this is the same television I watch nowadays with just a button on a remote and, my goodness, an antenna." Comfort replied.
Mother smiled and sat down on the same settee that held me before I found myself on the floor. "It's funny now, but it wasn't funny back then. Did you tell her about the video cassette players that we had to rewind with our fingers because there was no rewind button on the video cassette player?"
This time, Comfort knew she wouldn't be able to control herself and raced in the direction of the toilet. Mummy and I sat on the sofa, reminiscing about the cassette players and the turntable record player, while we waited for her return.
"My goodness. I never want to be born in your generation," she said as she made her way back to the sitting room.
My mother's eyes brimmed with tears of mirth, and the smile tugging at her lips broke into a grin. "That's what your own children would say when they see the high and mighty Android television you cherish so much. Perhaps in their own time, television might be incorporated into the human eye."
We both looked at our mother, and she stuck her tongue out at us, causing another round of laughter to erupt. The late '80s and early '90s might sound like the stone age to Generation Z, but they hold sweet memories for us, the millennials.
