New light on geek mythology

FOR some reason lately the big issues in life have been bugging me.

I've been ranting, raving and generally holding forth on all sorts of grave and heavy topics such as Isis and devastation in Vanuatu.

Once upon a time I used to be a humour columnist. I used to write about things that didn't matter to anyone at all, except to me. And even then only in the most trivial, fleeting way.

So it is with a huge sense of relief that the thoughts running unchecked through my consciousness at 1am like sheep being shifted between paddocks are not of the "big issue" variety. Rather, they are the inconsequential and (typical of 1am thoughts) obscure.

Foremost of these is this: please, dear God, let my son grow up to be a geek.

Given all parents want what's best for their children this thought needs a little context and explanation.

Earlier in the day I had loaned my studio to a couple of young guys wanting to practise their photography. They were coltishly long and skinny, fresh-faced, polite but a wee bit awkward around me as teenage boys often are around unknown adults. In their school uniforms, they were exactly what I hoped my son would grow up to be.

I showed them the space and went back to editing in the office next door, vaguely aware of their muffled voices as they worked on their project.

I hadn't asked what it was but assumed it was some entry-level school assignment that would result in over-exposed, out-of-focus images. Their request part way through for an apple to photograph seemed to confirm this.

Later that evening I very thoughtfully got emailed some photos from their session. Opening the files, I was momentarily gob-smacked when instead of some artless shot of a highlighter (I didn't have an apple), I was instead looking at a dystopian and frankly unsettling photograph of a person in a boiler suit and gas mask, lit with creativity and control. The second photo was a close-up of a hand that, thanks to excellent and very deliberate use of manual camera settings, was reaching out of the screen aggressively.

I was impressed enough to click through to the photographer's Instagram page and was confronted with more edgy, gritty images which made life in small-town New Zealand look way more cool and dynamic than it actually is.

All this is a bit off-topic but as I looked through the images I also noticed all the comments from other teenage kids who were impressed by the work as well. Being of vintage geek heritage myself and from a generation when teenagers didn't have their own language, it was compelling reading to see all the different adjectives now featuring in the vernacular of cool teens.

The photos weren't "excellent", they weren't even "wicked". There was no "well done" and there certainly wasn't a "cowabunga" in sight.

Instead they were all "sick", or in especially impressive cases, "f***ing sick". The only contemporary response I had to that one was, "WTF?".

Clearly, this photographer and his "broz" were cool. And yet they were also so young. Was it even possible that in 15 short years my own cheeky, rosy-cheeked, giggly little man could morph into this? Of course there was absolutely nothing wrong with this, these kids were after all highly creative and into f-stops and shutter-speeds not drugs and booze.

But even so, is it wrong to hope that my son grows up instead to be the sort that combs his hair flat, hangs out at the library, speaks a language I can understand and always hugs his mother before bed?