Via Skype, of course. My father still had not gotten the hang of the “newfangled” camera perched atop my mother’s desktop monitor. So, every time I spoke to him, he stood up—thinking that because he could see my face on the monitor better that way, I could see him. I could. But only his crotch.
As I stifled giggles and my mother kept admonishing him to sit down, I realized I am fast becoming my parents. Just with different technology.
I don’t print out emails and send them via US mail to my friends, as my mother did (she never did quite understand how to find the “forward” button). But I do fumble a bit with my kids’ technology—and find the teacher has now become the student, oh so humbled.
Full disclosure: I have marketed many things in my lifetime, technology among them. And marketing a new technology on a global basis I can handle. I know the big picture.
But ask me to program something at home? Totally different skill set.
My son had to show me several times how to get the Xbox Kinect up and running properly. As I gesticulated wildly to get it to recognize me (embarrassingly, this has happened before), he sighed. “Mom, you’re doing it wrong. Let me show you again.” I think he’d told me that several hundred times before.
When I installed the latest version of ioS, he had to show me how to kill my apps so I wasn’t constantly running out of battery. That took several thousand attempts also.
He wants to show me all sorts of apps and synergies to make my online ventures speedier, more exciting, more efficient. I find myself telling him to slow down—one thing at a time.
I can only process so much at once.
And just in case he is thinking of not respecting that request, I have an ace in the hole. When he is at college and wants to introduce me to his girlfriend, we’ll probably Skype. I can sit down for that—or I can stand up.
I am my father’s daughter, after all.