gistfile1.txt

I still remember the arangement of the furniture in our living room.
Particulary the TV. My step dad was handing me over the NES Zapper. 

It looked like a gun, and while my mum was busy to concern herself 
that this might be very well my career start as a mass shooter, 
was I pointing the Zapper at the TV, and pulled the trigger. 

The bird, that was just flying through the air, suddely dropped down 
dwindling, straight to the bottom of the screen. 

I felt powerful. Not because I killed a virtual animal. 
But because my input mattered. 

Because of something that I did, the thing on the screen changed. 

I remember another happening, as my grandma handed me over the blood pressure 
measurement device of my grandpa.

With absolute certainty in her voice, she said:
"You youngsters know your way around those devices, could you get it running"?

It was not working anymore for a while, and she handed it to me, as if I was a 
certified blood-pressure measurement-device technician, with 10 years of experience. 

More so than the pride, to have so much trust set into me, did I 
enjoy the perspective of finally playing with one of these technical devices. 

My mum usually held me afar from such ones. 

I turned the device back and forth, pressed some buttons, hold one, and suddenly 
it buzzed on me. I was scared for a moment, but my grandma was happy and nodded affirming. 

"You fixed it."

And from that moment on, I loved technical devices. 
They did what I wanted, and I just had to press some buttons. 

Later, it turned out, they wouldnt be always so complicant. 
But that, is another story. 

For the time being, I was certainly all in love with these electronic devices. 
Could just anybody listen to my random inputs so well as these, the world would 
be another place.