Stories: "Grandpa's electronic calendar" by bonzopoe

My youngest grandson gave me an electronic tablet this past Christmas. It was sleek, with a stylus pen and a leather cover embossed with my name in gold letters. For a man who spent his whole life working the land, my "planner" had always been the sun—marking the rhythm of the days—and the spirit of the weather, which told me when to plant, when to tend the earth, and when to harvest. But that was when I was young. Now, with so many children and grandchildren, I am fortunate enough to have a good settled life.

Those who live here on the reservation visit us all the time. My grandkids, who attend the tribal school just up the road, stop by almost every day. Sometimes they bring their friends and wait for their parents to pick them up, often staying for a meal. Even though it’s just the two of us now, my wife cooks as if we were eight. There is always frybread, cedar tea, and her special berry pudding.

When I opened the gift and told them I’d never owned a digital planner, they were stunned—especially the younger ones, who live in a world completely different from the one my wife and I grew up in. I asked how it worked, and they explained that you tap the screen to "input" the things you need to do so you don't forget, keeping everything "optimized."

My grandson, full of excitement, said, "Let’s break it in, Grandpa! Let's put in everyone's birthday." He passed the tablet around to his siblings and cousins, and one by one, they tapped their dates into the glowing screen.

Then my children, who take turns visiting us to bring supplies or drive us to the clinic for my rheumatism and other old-age aches, realized they could log their shifts. They said it would be useful for when we go to stay at their houses for a few days to see the grandkids who live off-reservation. And there they sat, eating dessert, scheduling my life into that little machine.

Friends and relatives who dropped by said they wanted to come back later when they had more time, while others invited us to their homes. Everything went into the digital calendar. By the end, the screen was a mosaic of colorful digital ink—from the black "official" notes of my sons to the bright pink scribbles made by my youngest granddaughters, barely five and six years old.

I told one of my sons we had to include the important community dates: the annual Powwow, the tribal ceremonies for the ancestors, and the memorial for his brother—the one who was taken from us by the border patrol years ago when he tried to cross back over.

My wife took the chance to ask them to program the traditional prayer circles and the community meetings she attends, where I usually walk her so she isn't out alone after dark. By the time they were done, the tablet was loaded for the entire year. They all raised a toast to me and my "new life," looking very pleased.

That was only a few months ago. Since then, I’ve organized my time strictly by what the screen tells me. My wife and I have never been so busy. And while we see our family and neighbors more than before, I’m just not built for this pace anymore, and neither is she.

The poor woman doesn’t even have time to cook the slow meals she loves. She cooks whatever is fast, not what she or I actually crave. You have no idea how much I’ve been wanting a proper, slow-simmered corn stew, but she tells me it takes too long to prep. To keep up with what the tablet demands, the clock simply runs out.

Tomorrow, I see a "free slot" on the screen. I’m going out to the old grazing lands as soon as the sun rises, and I suspect that "smart" device is going to get lost somewhere along the trail on the way back. Having a glowing box direct my life just isn't for me.

I’d rather go back to scratching the truly important things on a scrap of paper, like I used to. I'll stick with the sun, the wind, and my stiff joints to tell me what time it is. I've lived my whole life that way without a problem. Isn't that right, honey? "Yes, darling," she says. "That way I can finally make you that stew, and maybe some rice pudding for dessert."

Say no more. I know it’s not the "modern" way, and I might see the family a little less because of it, but at my age, a tablet isn't going to tell me how to live. But just in case... let me write that down on a scrap of paper, and maybe in the tablet too, so I don't forget.

Note: I originally wrote this story in Spanish a few years ago. I have changed the origin of the protagonists and the cultural elements in it to adapt it to the English language and culture.

Thank you very much for reading this post and dedicating a moment of your time. Until next time and remember to leave a comment.