Ben and Me_ From Temperance to Humility - Cameron Gunn [24]
I scrambled to stop the auto-install until I read the message. My computer was trying to install the components of a voice-recognition program that had been lying dormant on my hard drive.
In shock, I called the IT department. I told them what had happened, and after a short delay (relative to whom I was speaking); the technician came back and said, “Isn’t that funny. The operating system we’re running has a voice-recognition program included. We’ve just never activated it.”
I paused and drew a breath. “You’re telling me that every employee in this department could be using voice-recognition technology . . . for free?”
“Yup. Looks like it. They’d need a microphone, of course, but once it’s activated, it’s ready to go.”
Let me just step back for a minute and reiterate. On the very day that I had attempted to convince my employer to purchase a program to allow me to dictate into the computer, I discovered, completely by accident and entirely by coincidence, that I already possessed a program that allowed me to dictate into the computer. Now perhaps this, to you reading this removed from the circumstances, may not seem like proof of the existence of some spiritual force dedicated to the proper alignment of the universe. If you are such a skeptic, however, I ask you to reconsider your position. During my week of Silence, I was rewarded for my efforts by being allowed to speak. Perhaps Franklin is in cahoots with my IT department. Maybe I’m just getting punch-drunk from all my virtuous failures.
In any event, all I could manage was “Wow.”
There was another pause, then the technician said, “Do me a favor? Don’t tell anyone.”
“What?”
“Don’t tell anyone else about this.”
“Why not?”
“Because if you do, everyone will be asking us to activate it. We’ll never get anything else done. Just don’t say anything, will you?”
Ha! As if. On a day that my Silence had been rewarded, I intended to shout of my reward. And if those to whom I shouted asked how I came to find my treasure, I’d tell them Ben Franklin led me to it.
The Sound of Silence
There is no Silence in my house, not the literal kind at least. I have three children. And a dog. (Actually by the time I was revising this book, we had acquired a second dog. My kids won a bet to force me to get it. That’s a story for another book.)
Kelsey, the oldest at thirteen, has, as I have mentioned, special needs. She cannot talk or walk and developmentally she is about one year old. Notwithstanding her lack of speech, she is not silent. She has noises that mean something to her and, after all our time together, something to her mother and me as well. Happy sounds, sad sounds, hungry sounds. We have learned the meaning of the noises she makes, and they can bring joy or pain to our hearts.
Harper, who is seven, is a bright girl. She is empathetic and loving and, like all children, curious. She has questions constantly. I love answering these questions, though Michelle says that I am too verbose in my responses. But I can’t help it. I always wanted someone to ask me, “Dad, why is the sky blue?” I hope she never stops asking questions.
Darcy, our baby at five, is . . . well . . . how do I say this knowing someday she might read it? Darcy is loud. She can’t help it; she gets it from me. She loves life. She literally loves life, and she shows it by screaming and singing and dancing and laughing. We used to call her the Beast because she ran around the house like a wild animal. She is almost the human embodiment of joy. She is loud.