Normally, I'm not the type to wax nostalgic. I'm not interested in rehashing the past; rather, I'm more anxious to live in the future. Still, I can't help but feel a little sad about the impending demise of RadioShack, the convenience store for the electronic age.

The obligatory background: On Thursday, RadioShack finally filed for its long-expected bankruptcy. The company will sell as many as 2,400 stores to its largest shareholder. Sprint will operate some of these those as co-branded stores, so the RadioShack name won't exactly go away. RadioShack will then close the rest of its 4,000 stores.

I'm 58 years old, but I can't remember a time when there wasn't a RadioShack. As a kid I loved going with my dad to the store, wandering the aisles and wondering what the collections of wires, connectors, tools and widgets were for. The arrival of RadioShack's catalog in the mail was a delight, and I could spend hours flipping pages and wishing, wishing, wishing.

I can trace my interest in electronics and, later, computers directly to Radio Shack. I was fond of their electronics exploration kits aimed at children, and when the personal computer revolution began, Radio Shack brought those mystical machines to Main Street. I saw my first PC in a Radio Shack; bought my first copy of MS-DOS in one; and my very first DOS-based computer was a hand-me-down Tandy model from a programmer friend.

I first connected to the online world through a modem I bought at a RadioShack and attached to my first computer, a Commodore 64. I bought the modem — a blistering 300-baud model — to access the mainframe at the San Antonio Light where I worked, but I could never make the two systems talk. Instead, I discovered the world of computer Bulletin Board Systems, or BBSes, a precursor to online services such as America Online — and, eventually, to the Internet.

In the 1990s, when I began covering personal tech for the Chronicle, I became fascinated with the PC hobbyist movement. I built my own computers, and all of them included a part or two from RadioShack.

Today, my visits are fewer to "the Shack," as the company's marketing department once tried to rebrand it, but I still stop in when I need something. Most recently, our family took advantage of the good prices RadioShack was offering for iPhone trade-ins. And of course, I rolled in when I had to replace the obscure battery backing up our home's alarm system, or when I'd lost the charger for a portable gadget.

There's an irony in RadioShack's demise: It was a vanguard for the forces that ultimately killed it. RadioShack couldn't change fast enough with the forces wrenching both retail and personal electronics. And when it did try something new, it often failed miserably.

Remember the Incredible Universe stores? These were big-box electronics outlets meant to compete with the likes of Best Buy or Fry's Electronics. When I first walked into the one on the Southwest Freeway, I knew Tandy (then the name of its parent company) had made a huge mistake. It was too loud, too flashy, like a hopeless nerd trying too hard to convince you that he's really, really hip.

RadioShack was at its best when it was true to its roots, selling electronic parts from ubiquitous neighborhood stores embedded. There are still ways to get the components you need for a tech project, but without RadioShack you'll have to navigate stores like Fry's or MicroCenter — if there's one near you.

And yeah, you can order from the Internet, but when you're hell-bent on finishing that project RIGHT NOW, the RadioShack store beats overnight delivery every time. For us geeks, America is about to get a little less convenient.

Bookmark Gray Matters. You can spend hours flipping webpages and wishing, wishing wishing.