With all due respect - what a wonderful phrase. Often used as a
precursor to a negative reply, but equally useful for a compliment or
a sincere statement. It is with all due respect that I write this
article about my 70-year-old mother and her first computer and
Internet experience.
Rebuilding Macintosh computers as a hobby often creates a pile of
parts and pieces stacked in the "computer room" of my house. RAM
modules, hard drives, motherboards, and monitors adorn every
available table top, couch, file cabinet and empty chair in my
computer room, casting
a late 90s tech accent to my traditionally Southern decor.
Driven by curiosity and true desire, I chose several rogue pieces
and assembled a Quadra 700 to send
to my mother. I wanted to bring her out of the dark ages and allow
her to correspond with her children and grandchildren via email. The
more I thought about the idea, the more inspired I became. "GooGoo,"
as she is affectionately known, was heading for cyberspace. What has
the world come to?
My plan was simple. I wanted a simple machine with simple
instructions for her to follow. I had already attempted to bring her
into the twentieth century early last year with a riding lawn mower
and thought I was going to be physically beaten (severely!) for my
efforts. Luckily, I prevailed, and she is now somewhat receptive to
modern machinery that postdates the wheelbarrow. Lawn mower last
year, computer this year. We are now moving at light speed.
I placed several aliases on the desktop and titled them "start the
internet" and "close the internet" for her browser and dialer. Since
Macs will speak typed text, I also wrote directions that would speak
to her, if she desired. I labeled those directions "start here."
Then, it was off to the UPS office to ship the box full of electronic
wizardry to Arkansas.
The box arrived safe and sound. I called long distance and walked
her through plugging mouse to keyboard, keyboard to computer, monitor
to tower, and power cords everywhere. Now for the modem. I guess
since modem and monitor both start with the letter "m," it was too
much. I changed monitor to screen (as in TV), and we proceeded. I had
to stop here and reevaluate my perspective. It is a bit much to ask
someone to come from the dark ages to our techno-cyber-webcrawling
world in one phone call. We discussed the modem, its purpose, and how
to plug it into the wall phone receptacle several times.
Unfortunately, before I could say, "but do not do that now or we will
be disconnected," we were disconnected.
I sat in Texas, with my mother in Arkansas surrounded by partially
assembled computer pieces and no telephone line to communicate
through. Now that she has the modem plugged into the wall, I cannot
call her and tell her to take it out. I sat and waited. And I waited.
And I waited a little more. Finally she called me. She deduced that
since the telephone was not plugged in, it wouldn't work. Boy I am
impressed! I can actually see some thought process starting to kick
in on this whole deal! She may just make it into this century in time
for the next one. We moved the phone line to the modem, and the modem
line to the phone receptacle. We were off and running.
Since her only phone line is now dedicated to the modem, she must
go to her cell phone to communicate. We started off getting her
accustomed to the mouse. I started her moving it in small circles to
get the feel of it. For some reason she had to put the phone down to
do this. I waited and waited until she returned to the phone.
"This is very difficult," she replied. Hmmmm, what is making this
so difficult, I asked myself, and why did it take two hands? I
quizzed her about using the mouse on the mousepad that I sent along
in the box. "Oh, it has to be on that thing?" she asked. I explained
about the ball on the bottom and the friction of the pad. Silence on
the other end of the phone. Finally I asked, "Mother, if you didn't
have the mouse on the pad, and it was taking both hands, how were you
trying to use it?" At this point, I realized the technological Grand
Canyon that we were attempting to cross. She was holding the mouse
with both hands, pointing it at the monitor, and clicking the mouse
button as if it were a remote control on a television set or a
VCR.
Visions of her standing there with the mouse in the palms of her
hands clicking at the screen were more than I could handle. I had to
excuse myself and pretend that someone was knocking at the front door
to hide my laughter. Her only "gadget" reference point was a
television remote control, and, after all, there was a screen
involved in this deal.
"No, Mom, put it down on the pad and move it around," I explained.
Still a lot of silence.
"This is not going to be easy. When you move it left it goes
right, and when you move it right it goes left," she replied. I sat
and pondered what was happening on the other end of the phone.
Finally I snapped to her dilemma. "Mother, turn the mouse around -
you have it backwards, the wire must go out the front of it, between
your fingers."
"Oh! much better!" she exclaimed. "That is easier." So we
practiced making circles with the mouse and the arrow on her screen.
She repeatedly told me that the arrow looked like a fly buzzing
around her screen. "I know, Mom, I know." I mean, what else do you
say to your mother; she has come a long way in the last twenty
minutes.
We practiced menus, dragging down, clicking, double clicking, and
finally took the big step of sending an email. Fortunately the dial
up numbers I preset for her worked, and she logged on at the first
attempt. I had set up a home page for her from Texas, and it
displayed a "Welcome GooGoo" message as it filled the screen. She
liked that.
She made it through the initial email that I had sent her and sent
me a reply. Mission accomplished. Now it was time for her to close
her browser and disconnect her dialer, which she did without many
obstacles. One-and-a-half hours later, she had completed her
assignment.
The next day at the "stitch and chatter" crochet gathering, the
conversations were abuzz with computer lingo. One friend in this
bridge playing/sewing club also has a computer. Email addresses were
exchanged. Several of these power knitters, power card playing women,
made comments about their husbands using computers, but not many of
the women had become acquainted with the newfangled machines. I was
proud that my mother was now an internet Grandma.
Since that time, she calls me at night to get instructions, which
she writes down for reference. I have tried to explain to her about
the capabilities of the tool she has at hand, but she seems content
on using it strictly for email at this point. No need for search
engines or instant messaging for now; she is satisfied with her
progress. And so am I.
My mother was born 63 days before the stock market crash of 1929,
survived the Great Depression, WW II, Korea, the Cold War, saw the
invention of the television, the space program, nuclear devices, air
conditioning, and modern medicine. She raised four children, lost
both her husband and her mother this year, and is now navigating in
cyberspace with much delight. She has come a long way.
Thanks to a bunch of assembled used computer pieces my mother is
now on the leading edge of technology, as far as she is
concerned.
I cannot help but wonder what my five year old daughter will be
doing 65 years from now. I just hope that her son derives as much
pleasure as I did in his attempt to familiarize his mother with a new
Macintosh whateveritis device. Heaven forbid that my ancestors switch
to the Dark Side after my demise. I would be spinning in my grave as
my heirs were battling the blue screen of death from Windows
machines.
Yes, I am predicting that in 65 years the bugs still won't be
worked out of those Wintel boxes.
Internet Grandma,
2000.09.22. You'll laugh out loud as John Foster explains how he
helped his 70-year-old mother get on the Internet.
The World Wide Intercom,
2000.10.26. "The one interest that transcends language, social
status, and background is the vibrant desire to learn about
computers and the Internet."
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casting
a late 90s tech accent to my traditionally Southern decor.
