We all grew up, our grandmothers and mothers had about three

“We all grew up, our grandmothers and mothers had about three channels to watch, so we watched those soaps and now, a generation has grown up with the Internet and computers and video games.” — in this reflection, Jack Wagner speaks not merely of technology, but of the evolution of human experience. His words echo with nostalgia and quiet wisdom, reminding us how swiftly the world transforms, and how each generation is shaped by the tools and stories of its time. The tone is gentle, but within it lies a profound meditation on culture, attention, and the shifting nature of connection itself.

In the days of our grandmothers and mothers, the world was smaller — not in its geography, but in its rhythm. There were only “three channels,” Wagner says, and in those few streams of light, families gathered. They shared the same dramas, the same commercials, the same moments of laughter and suspense. The television became a hearth — the modern fire around which stories were told. It was a symbol of unity through simplicity, a time when shared experience was the thread that bound generations.

But the world of the Internet, computers, and video games is another realm entirely — vast, limitless, and fragmented. Where once there were three choices, now there are millions. Each person builds a private world of screens, tastes, and preferences. The unity of shared experience gives way to the freedom of infinite experience. Wagner’s words are not a condemnation of progress but a recognition of its cost. For while technology has expanded our reach, it has also scattered our attention.

This change mirrors the cycles of history. The ancients once gathered at the public square to hear poets sing the same epic — Homer’s Iliad was not one man’s tale, but a shared memory of a people. Centuries later, the printing press multiplied voices, and the world rejoiced at newfound freedom — yet it also lost the intimacy of shared oral tradition. So too now, with the coming of the digital age, humanity gains abundance but loses unity. The Internet is the new agora, but it hums with a thousand unconnected songs, each beautiful yet isolated.

Consider the story of Fred Rogers, the creator of Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood. In the age of television, he used the screen not to entertain, but to nurture empathy. He looked into the camera as though into the eyes of a single child, speaking softly in a world that was already beginning to shout. Rogers believed that technology, though powerful, must serve the heart, not replace it. His work became a bridge between the simplicity of the old world and the boundless noise of the new. In this way, he embodied the truth behind Wagner’s words — that even as technology evolves, the human spirit must remain the center of every generation’s story.

Wagner’s reflection also speaks to the nature of generational inheritance. Our mothers and grandmothers passed down patience — the patience to sit through commercials, to wait for the next episode, to live within limits. The new generation inherits speed — instant streaming, instant gratification, instant connection. Yet what we gain in efficiency, we risk losing in depth. The challenge of our time is not to reject the digital, but to remember how to dwell within it with awareness and heart.

The lesson of this quote is both tender and urgent: progress is a gift, but it must not cost us our sense of wonder or connection. The tools may change, but the longing beneath them — the need to understand, to belong, to feel — remains eternal. The television, the Internet, the game — all are mirrors reflecting the same human desire: to reach beyond ourselves. Let us then use these tools wisely, not as distractions, but as extensions of compassion and imagination.

So, O child of the glowing screen, remember this: your ancestors sat before the flickering light of the television as their ancestors once sat before the flame. The glow may have changed, but the heart that gathers around it has not. Let your technology serve your humanity, not consume it. For as Jack Wagner reminds us, though the channels may have multiplied, the soul that watches — that yearns to understand, to love, and to be loved — is still the same.