Back in the day, there was this thing called privacy. In most people’s minds, it was a good thing. A very good thing.
Privacy meant you did not need to tell your neighbours about your political leanings if you didn’t want to.
You did not need to tell your co-workers about that nasty stomach bug you’ve been battling — and rarely would you have wanted to. Privacy meant that a quiet evening out with you and your special someone was exactly that: something between you and your special someone.
Privacy meant you were highly unlikely to stand on your rooftop and tell the world what electives you were taking at university and how well you scored. That was a matter between you and your transcript. And anyway, the world didn’t really care.
This thing called privacy was a consideration in all manner of things. If your manager gave you a raise, privacy generally meant you would share that with your spouse, but that’s about it. In most cases, you did not buy an ad in the local paper in order to share this news. That would have been seen as something else, known back in the day as bragging.
Same with your possessions. If you bought something new — a chesterfield say, or a bicycle or a barbecue — you were not usually inclined to take a picture of the item and mail it to all your friends. Back in the day, this would have been seen as insensitive, given that you never knew which of your friends was living paycheque to paycheque.
If you happened to be a parent back in the day, privacy entered the picture bigtime.
Privacy meant their finger paintings would go on your fridge, but no further than that. It meant you did not pull out a bullhorn at the neighbourhood block party to announce that little Johnnie had learned to both tie his shoes and sing The Farmer in the Dell — and that you had a video to prove it. The neighbours would have considered you absolutely mad.
Privacy, of course, has long gone the way of the dodo bird, wherever it is the dodo went. Privacy has, in fact, pretty much disappeared entirely, with all manner of folks throwing everything in our faces, from news about their promotions to videos of their children’s handstands.
To me, at least, it’s all very weird.
I may be an outlier, but I’ll say this right now: It’s nice that Johnnie can tie his shoes, but I, for one, don’t care.
