We have an old tricycle in our house. It belonged to one of us as a small child— years ago and on another continent. It was not even new then. Then it belonged to three others in our house when they were small children—not as many years ago and on three continents.
It is now useless technology, or at least it fits one definition of useless technology encountered during a recent discussion of that topic. A potential definition of the concept is a technology that is vestigial– like a human appendix, it remains, though its usefulness has been obscured by time.
I thought of the tricycle. It’s useless technology, or at least vestigial technology that is useless in its current context, barking shins as it is occasionally bumped into a short, jerky, lonely roll across the floor of the garage.
But when it transported small children racing down hallways or patrolling courtyards, it was useful technology. Unlike many technologies, it never became obsolete. Unlike many technologies, it kept its promises. Unlike many technologies, it did not require maintenance or repair beyond the capabilities of its stewards. Unlike many technologies, it hid no unexpected negative side effects. Unlike many technologies, it could not be compromised to serve the dark side.
It is just a tricycle.
And it’s not even useless. While it no longer carries imaginative, energetic young minds and limbs, it carries plenty of memories. It serves as both a magnet for and repository of recollection, recall, and rejoicing for the happy conveyance it was and remains. For the love it inspired, a love that burnishes it bright beneath its temporary coating of dust.
Our tricycle is vestigial technology right now, yet never will it be useless.