The last hold-out is gone. The move into the 21st century is finally complete. We tried to repel that one piece of modern technology trying to push its way into our lives, but just couldn’t fight it anymore. The temptation was too great. Its power too strong. Its ascension inevitable. The Thompsons now own a microwave.
Sure, that’s no big deal to you. And you’re probably amazed we’ve never had one in the first place. You’re probably judging us — wondering what’s wrong with us, how we could raise a child in this world without a microwave.
Yes, there are people in parts of the world without electricity who still own microwaves. And yes, we know it’s the best way to make popcorn, and that it borders on un-American not to have one.
It’s not that we don’t believe in technology. We have a dishwasher, high-speed Internet, XM satellite radio, a chain saw, a digital camera and a very fancy apple peeler that can also do trigonometry.
But deep down, we’re simple people. If I wanted to heat up leftovers, I would go outside, build a fire and do it the old fashioned way. Or I would leave it out in the sun or the back seat of the car, which could take the chill off a pasta dish by about sundown.
We never needed a microwave, or for that matter, never wanted one.
Then we had a kid and everything changed. Food needed to be ready when it was needed — not four days later when the oven finally got to the right temperature. Thawing food with a propane torch no longer seemed responsible or safe. Certain things made for toddlers only came in microwave containers. If you couldn’t prove you had a microwave, they wouldn’t even sell it to you.
It also became clear that it would be unfair to raise a child in a microwaveless world. She would be stigmatized in school and called all kinds of horrible names like “Flintstones girl” or “little miss frozen peas.” I couldn’t bear the thought of her coming home one day crying about how someone teased her and said, “Your daddy cooks with gas. Ha, ha!”
I know this firsthand, as I’m 34 years old and have never in my life owned a microwave. I once had a college roommate with one, and I think I used it to dry socks and badly burn TV dinners. Otherwise, I had no interest.
I like to cook. And you don’t cook in a microwave. You zap food. You nuke it. You stand there and watch it spin around, wondering how in the heck the machine works, and why staring at it too long makes your eyeballs itch.
I don’t like a machine with science I can’t understand. Everything else is simple. A hot water heater uses coils to get the water temperature where it needs to be. A dishwasher uses jets to get food off of plates. A knife uses a finely honed blade to slice off the tips of your fingers. A computer uses 1s and 0s, and a mouse on a treadmill. A refrigerator I don’t understand, but I know if you climb in there, it won’t melt the skin off of your bones.
A microwave heats food by passing microwaves through it. What? That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard! Might as well call it the “magicwave.” Put your food in on high for 45 seconds and it not only comes out hot, but a rabbit pops up and hops away.
But, here we are. A microwaving family. We don’t even know how to use the dang thing, or what we’re going to put in there, but it’s supposed to make our lives easier and cooking faster. We’ll see. For now, all I know is my eyeballs keep itching and the mouse in the computer stopped running on the treadmill. Welcome to the 21st century — now where’s my popcorn?