ME: Okay, we’re leaving tomorrow morning, so let’s go over your checklist of things you wanted us to do while you were here.
MY FATHER: Sounds good.
ME: Planted garden, check. Trimmed bushes, check. Took you to Bed, Bath, & Beyond. Bought you a Kindle Paperwhite . . . Check. Are you really going to still keep your old Kindle?
MY FATHER: Why in the world would I get rid of a perfectly good Kindle?
ME: Are you going to read the new one and the old one simultaneously?
MY FATHER: No.
ME: You could give it to your sister, or to one of your friends. . . .
MY FATHER: Why would I give away a perfectly good Kindle?
ME: Because you’re going to use the new one more?
MY FATHER: It’s a perfectly good. . . .
ME: Anyway. Bought you a new Kindle. Drove you to where you’re giving a talk next week. Anything else?
MY FATHER: We need to look up my old classmate on the college alumni website.
ME: Okay. That shouldn’t take long. Let me find the website . . . and log in. . . .
MY FATHER: How did you find the website?
ME: I went to Google and I typed in the name of the college and ‘alumni website.’
MY FATHER [making notes}: . . . type in. . . .
ME: Okay, what’s the name of the guy you’re stalking?
MY FATHER: I am not stalking! I am merely curious. . . .
ME: Yes, that’s what stalkers say.
MY FATHER [with dignity]: The last name is Edmunds. The first name is Erik.
ME: Erik Edmunds. Class of 1961. Minneapolis, Minnesota. Is that the one?
MY FATHER: That is indeed the one.
ME: Okay . . . screen grab . . . let me send it . . . all right. Captured and sent to your email. Now I’m going up to bed because tomorrow we. . . .
MY FATHER: Actually, I was hoping you’d show me how to do it so that in the future I could more effectively. . . .
ME: . . . . stalk people yourself.
MY FATHER: I was not. . . .
ME: All right. I will make a profile for you so that you can log in and do it yourself. [I poke at the iPad screen a bit.] Your first name . . . Last name . . . B . . . R . . . I . . .
MY FATHER [helpfully]: C-E. . . .
ME: I know how to spell it . . . address . . . Richmond, Virginia . . . zip code. Class of nineteen . . . sixty-one. Okay. Username and password?
MY FATHER [stares blankly]
ME: You need to create a username and password.
MY FATHER: A ooooser . . . name?
ME: A username. And a password.
MY FATHER: I thought I heard you put in my name.
ME: That was your actual name. You need to come up with a username in order to log into this website.
MY FATHER: A user . . . name?
ME: What would you like to use as a one-word user name?
MY FATHER: Is that like a password?
ME: No, it’s not a password. I said ‘username and password.’ Two different things. Think up a username that you’ll remember.
MY FATHER: Is that like my email?
ME: No. It is not your email.
MY FATHER: What should I choose as a username?
ME: It’s got to be something that you will remember.
MY FATHER: What is the philosophy behind choosing a username?
ME: We are not going to discuss the broad philosophy of choosing usernames. Just pick one.
MY FATHER: What is your username?
ME: It’s . . . no. I’m not playing that game.
MY FATHER: I just wanted to know your username!
ME: It’s a secret.
MY FATHER: If you were to pick a username for me. . . .
ME: Look. This really isn’t supposed to be difficult. Your username can be ‘MrPenguin’ or ‘NPRLover’ or ‘HistoryNut.’ You can use your initials. I don’t care. The database doesn’t care. It is not going to ask your reasons for choosing what you choose. It is not going to question you on your methodology and philosophy of selecting a username. It’s just a username. All you have to do is pick some name so you can user it. Use it, I mean.
MY FATHER: So I don’t need a password?
ME: It’s not the same thing. You will need to pick a password.
MY FATHER [opens his mouth]
ME: Not the same as your email password.
MY FATHER: Oh. How about—
ME: Not the same as your Amazon password.
MY FATHER [dejected]: Oh. Well. What’s your password?
ME [ignoring him]: It says ‘passwords must be at least eight characters in length and contain at least one numeral and one non-numeric character.’
MY FATHER: One numeral—
ME: —and one non-numeric character.
MY FATHER: What’s a non-numeric character
ME: Something that’s not a number.
MY FATHER: Like an asterisk?
ME: Or, you know, a letter.
MY FATHER: Oh! So they want a password with a number and a letter.
ME: Yes.
MY FATHER: B5?
ME: What?
MY FATHER: B5?
ME: Are you calling bingo? Passwords must be at least characters in length. . . .
MY FATHER: What are those on your feet?
ME: What? Sneakers.
MY FATHER: What kind of sneakers?
ME: They’re Converse, why?
MY FATHER: Are you planning on going running?
ME: No.
MY FATHER: Are they fancy Converse?
ME: These are the most beat-up shoes I own. I think I bought them for twenty dollars.
MY FATHER: They look like old-fashioned tennis shoes.
ME: They are. And they have nothing to do with your username and password.
MY FATHER: But what is your. . . .
ME: Never mind.
MY FATHER: What do you mean, never mind?
ME: I mean never mind, I just this second made up a username and password for you.
MY FATHER: Well! We might have discussed it a little, first!
1 comment:
I love your conversations with your father.
...
Post a Comment