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But there’s really something off-putting about the ham style of communication, at least to my ears. Truth be told, I don’t really want to talk to anyone, face to face or over the air. Lest this be construed as ham-hate, it’s not. And my wife is supportive too, so it’s not that either. So what’s my problem? Why am I not active on the HF bands and checking in on the local repeaters?īecause as it turns out, when you’re a ham you end up talking to other hams.

My kids are old enough now to be self-reliant, so it’s not like I’d be working the bands while there are dirty diapers to deal with. At least for now I have enough disposable income to spend on “The World’s Greatest Hobby.” It’s not time either, at least not really. More so than the average Joe who comes in off the street to sit for a license test (and there are far more of those folks than you might think), I have a pretty good grasp of the theory and practice of RF communications. It’s not lack of understanding the art and science of amateur radio. I even bought a good, solid HF rig and built some antennas, but I’ve made a grand total of one QSO - a brief chat with a ham in Texas from my old home in Connecticut on the 10-meter band. Oh, sure, I bought a couple of Baofeng and Wouxun handy-talkies and lurked on the local repeaters. The next part of my ham story is all-too-familiar these days: I haven’t done a damn thing with my license. But as my circumstances changed, the idea of working the airwaves resurfaced, and in 2015 I finally took the plunge and earned my General class license. My ham ambitions remained well below the surface as life happened over the next 40 or so years. But I lost interest, probably because I was an adolescent male and didn’t figure a ham ticket would improve my chances with the young ladies. Brown taught me a lot about electronics, and very nearly got me far enough along to take the test for my Novice class license. He had the traditional calling card of the suburban ham - a gigantic beam antenna on a 60′ mast in the backyard – so they figured he could act as a mentor to me. With little to guide me and fear for my life as I routinely explored the innards of the TVs and radios in the house, they turned to the kindly older gentleman across the street from us, Mr. I was about 12 at the time, with an interest in electronics that baffled my parents. My amateur radio journey began back in the mid-1970s.

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