I Bought My First Computer in 1980. Here’s What It Taught Me About AI.

It was 1978. I was fourteen years old, working the food court at a mall in Northbrook, Illinois.

I was technically too young to work. I’d talked my high school guidance counselor into signing a work permit. And there I was, slinging submarine sandwiches and pizzas for $2.65 an hour.

Then one afternoon, something across the food court stopped me cold.

The Radio Shack had a computer in the window.

I’d grown up on pinball machines at the local bowling alley. When Pong arrived, I stood in front of that cabinet with my mouth open. I couldn’t explain why these machines had such a grip on me. I just knew they did.

But this was different.

This was a TRS-80 Model I. 4K of RAM. A cassette tape for storage. A green cursor blinking on a black screen like it was asking me something.

The price card said $599.95.

I had no such bank account.

I went back to that store probably once a week for the next two years.

Not to buy. I couldn’t buy. I went to stand there, put my hands on the keyboard, and type something. Anything. The salesman would consult a spec sheet when I asked questions. I’m pretty sure I understood that machine better than he did.

By September 1979 I had a hundred dollars saved toward a $599.95 goal.

I kept going.

In 1980, at sixteen years old, I walked back into that Radio Shack and put the cash on the counter.

My father was somewhat confused, but he didn’t discourage me from pursuing my passion.

My mother asked, “What are you going to do with a computer?”

I told her I didn’t know exactly.

I wasn’t lying. I genuinely didn’t know. But I knew I was going to figure it out.

I learned BASIC. I played games. I got a 300 baud acoustic coupler modem and started dialing into bulletin board services, connecting my bedroom in Northbrook, Illinois to a world I hadn’t known existed.

I didn’t realize it at the time, but I’d already become a pioneer of technology.

Not because I was especially brilliant. Not because I had a plan. Because I was willing to sit down in front of something I didn’t fully understand yet and start typing.

Here’s what strikes me now, more than four decades later.

Many people I’ve talked to about AI in the last few years sound exactly like my mother in 1980.

What are you going to do with it?

It’s the right question. It’s also, in a way, the wrong one. Because the honest answer, then and now, is: I don’t know yet. But I’m going to figure it out.

I’ve watched this pattern play out six times in my career. The web. Search. Social media. Mobile. Blockchain. And now AI. Every single time, the people who won weren’t the ones who waited until they had a clear use case. They were the ones who started typing before they knew what they were doing.

There’s a pattern to how people move through technological disruption. I call it the Disruption Confidence Cycle. It starts with Disruption, moves through Doubt and Clarity into Confidence, and eventually reaches Momentum. The people who get stuck aren’t stupid. They just won’t move past Doubt without a guarantee nobody can give them.

I never waited for a guarantee. I had a savings account and a machine that said READY.

The TRS-80 Model I is likely sitting in a landfill somewhere. The skills I built on it aren’t.

Learning to think with a computer, to experiment without fear of breaking something, to see a blinking cursor as an invitation rather than a threat… that’s what those years in Northbrook gave me. Not the hardware. The posture.

It’s the same posture I bring to AI today.

I’m still playing. Still figuring things out. Still sharing what I learn with others.

The cursor’s still blinking.

The only question is whether you’re going to type something back.