I grew up firmly in the Apple age. When my dad brought home our family’s first computer—an Apple II model—in the early ‘80s, I was too young to remember the day’s excitement. But I remember it always being there during my childhood, a magic box into which I would insert floppy discs to play games like Stickybear, which taught numbers and letters. Later, I played games on the green screen that would seem absurdly simple to today’s youngsters, but which I enjoyed as much as they do any of today’s latest 3D, controller-free offerings.
At school I used Macintosh computers to learn the multiplication tables. Later, our family switched over to a PC, but the allure of the Mac never faded. They became more beautiful—and more expensive—and in graduate school I longed to be able to afford the sleek screens used in the journalism school’s design labs.
For me, Apple has always been there, has always been the rod used to measure not only technology, but often design as well. And for most of that time, Apple has been linked inextricably with Steve Jobs. The abundance of articles and tributes to him, some by people who knew him and some, like me, strangers who simply loved his products, show how inventions can change the world.
President Obama said, “There may be no greater tribute to Steve’s success than the fact that much of the world learned of his passing on a device he invented.” That was true for me. When I heard the news from my husband, I did not turn on the TV; I didn’t go to my laptop; I simply picked up my iPhone.