Remember that I told you that my dad liked to talk to me about his work? I wonder how it feels to be so passionate about engineering and to have no one at home to talk to about it except a nine-year-old girl. I know my dad wanted my brother to work on electronics with him, but my brother had no interest in it, absolutely none. My brother wanted to be outside. The two of them had a real connection when it came to camping and getting along outdoors, but my dad had a real sadness that my brother didn't like engineering. I remember thinking, "But what about me? I'm here."
Back then, girls just weren't encouraged to show an interest in engineering. I know it's changed a little, but just a little. I didn't really love building things the way my dad did. I just wanted to know how they worked. Daddy got that and boy, did he explain.
One Saturday afternoon, I went downstairs to tell my dad that lunch was ready. He was in his den. I couldn't imagine how he liked being down there. It was a corner room of the basement. The floors were bare concrete, the kind that could chill my legs to the knees in the summer. The walls were bare concrete too, painted white. There was only one small high window on the East wall and Daddy had a pull-chain bulb in the middle of the room to work by. That meant that if he wasn't in there, I had to creep through the dark with one arm waving in front of me to try to feel the chain. Oh, that room was scary. I had to pass the furnace to get there and the furnace made noises that sounded like it was alive even though it was a big blue metal box. I used to imagine that my dad had captured the basement monsters and held them prisoner in there.
But my dad loved being in his den. If it was fixed up, then other people would have liked being in there too and he wouldn't have been able to do so many neat things or sit and think which he always seemed to be doing when I came in. So that afternoon, when I walked in, my dad was fiddling around with an oscilloscope. I loved the little green waves on the screen and touched it almost afraid that he'd tell me to stop. My dad got a sparkle in his eyes.
"Do you want to see your voice?" he asked.
"How can I see my voice?" I asked looking past my nose and wiggling my lips. My dad laughed.
"Not your face, the sound waves," he said. I always thought of Grandpa Bill's blue boat when I thought of waves. I thought my dad must be joking with me about these waves. "Real sound," he said. He walked deeper into his den and came back with some wires, clips, and other stuff. He started connecting them to the oscilloscope.
"Okay," I said, doubtfully. I stood and watched as he played with the oscilloscope's knobs, explaining what he was doing as he went. I had no idea what he meant when he said something about the 'frequency range of the human voice' and he said something else about 'hurts.' Now, I know that the word is 'Hertz,' the measurement for frequency. I saw some lines on the screen. That was neat. He popped his big finger on the top of a cheap microphone, probably from the tape recorder my brother had that didn't work any more. After he adjusted a few more knobs, I could see lines on the screen every time he did that. Cool!
Then, he handed me the microphone and said, "Sing!"
Oh my God, I could see my own voice. Then my dad started talking faster, about a sine waves and frequency. He said that if I made my voice very simple, I could sing a sine wave. It took some figuring out, but I did it. Then he told me to sing higher and I could see the lines had closer humps. When I sang lower, there were fewer humps. The really funny thing was that it was such a great line on the oscilloscope, I thought that had to be my best singing, but it wasn't. It was strangely flat sounding. When I went back to my nice voice, my dad got all excited again.
"Look! There are your overtones!"
I didn't get it about overtones until much later either, but I saw them, little tight spikes in the waves like a heartbeat. My dad moved the wave up and down on the screen, talking about voltage. I just kept singing and singing into that cheap microphone as my dad adjusted the wave, showing me things. We both loved it.
"Hey, didn't I send you down here to ask your dad about lunch?" I heard my mom say from outside the den. Play time was over. We had to go eat.
So, once in a while, when no one is listening because it really doesn't sound pretty, I'll sing a sine wave. It's for my dad if his soul is out there listening. It's for me.
Thank you for listening, jb
Back then, girls just weren't encouraged to show an interest in engineering. I know it's changed a little, but just a little. I didn't really love building things the way my dad did. I just wanted to know how they worked. Daddy got that and boy, did he explain.
One Saturday afternoon, I went downstairs to tell my dad that lunch was ready. He was in his den. I couldn't imagine how he liked being down there. It was a corner room of the basement. The floors were bare concrete, the kind that could chill my legs to the knees in the summer. The walls were bare concrete too, painted white. There was only one small high window on the East wall and Daddy had a pull-chain bulb in the middle of the room to work by. That meant that if he wasn't in there, I had to creep through the dark with one arm waving in front of me to try to feel the chain. Oh, that room was scary. I had to pass the furnace to get there and the furnace made noises that sounded like it was alive even though it was a big blue metal box. I used to imagine that my dad had captured the basement monsters and held them prisoner in there.
But my dad loved being in his den. If it was fixed up, then other people would have liked being in there too and he wouldn't have been able to do so many neat things or sit and think which he always seemed to be doing when I came in. So that afternoon, when I walked in, my dad was fiddling around with an oscilloscope. I loved the little green waves on the screen and touched it almost afraid that he'd tell me to stop. My dad got a sparkle in his eyes.
"Do you want to see your voice?" he asked.
"How can I see my voice?" I asked looking past my nose and wiggling my lips. My dad laughed.
"Not your face, the sound waves," he said. I always thought of Grandpa Bill's blue boat when I thought of waves. I thought my dad must be joking with me about these waves. "Real sound," he said. He walked deeper into his den and came back with some wires, clips, and other stuff. He started connecting them to the oscilloscope.
"Okay," I said, doubtfully. I stood and watched as he played with the oscilloscope's knobs, explaining what he was doing as he went. I had no idea what he meant when he said something about the 'frequency range of the human voice' and he said something else about 'hurts.' Now, I know that the word is 'Hertz,' the measurement for frequency. I saw some lines on the screen. That was neat. He popped his big finger on the top of a cheap microphone, probably from the tape recorder my brother had that didn't work any more. After he adjusted a few more knobs, I could see lines on the screen every time he did that. Cool!
Then, he handed me the microphone and said, "Sing!"
Oh my God, I could see my own voice. Then my dad started talking faster, about a sine waves and frequency. He said that if I made my voice very simple, I could sing a sine wave. It took some figuring out, but I did it. Then he told me to sing higher and I could see the lines had closer humps. When I sang lower, there were fewer humps. The really funny thing was that it was such a great line on the oscilloscope, I thought that had to be my best singing, but it wasn't. It was strangely flat sounding. When I went back to my nice voice, my dad got all excited again.
"Look! There are your overtones!"
I didn't get it about overtones until much later either, but I saw them, little tight spikes in the waves like a heartbeat. My dad moved the wave up and down on the screen, talking about voltage. I just kept singing and singing into that cheap microphone as my dad adjusted the wave, showing me things. We both loved it.
"Hey, didn't I send you down here to ask your dad about lunch?" I heard my mom say from outside the den. Play time was over. We had to go eat.
So, once in a while, when no one is listening because it really doesn't sound pretty, I'll sing a sine wave. It's for my dad if his soul is out there listening. It's for me.
Thank you for listening, jb
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