I wouldn’t necessarily use the word “obsessed” to describe my attachment to my connectivity to all things internet-related. As my dad refers to it, my “toy” is almost always within arm-length distance away from me.
We got to my parent’s house on Saturday, and on Sunday I consciously left my “toy” in my bedroom so as to be connected to the real life goings on instead of the digital happenings. I did this partly so that I didn’t have to hear it from my dad about always “playing on (my) toy.” Mind you, this is a man whose sole goal in life after he retires is to never have to touch a computer again.
He thinks he’s a kind of an idealist.
I say he’s crotchety.
This is a man who described a restaurant as a ”5 star Chili’s.”
He also thinks Alyssa Milano and Maggie Gyllenhaal are the same person.
My mom has a Blackberry, a laptop, and a desktop computer, so I know at least some current cultural information will get in and out of this house. I’m not worried about their collective connectivity.
But my dad just doesn’t “get” what I do. His work life consists of going to an office during his set hours of the week, then coming home and forgetting about the office when he’s not there. According to him, whenever I’m on my lappytop or on my phone, I’m “playing.” His version of “playing” is going to the golf course five (low estimate) times a week.
I’ll just hope he’s with me when I have to escape a building fire because I’ll be the one on my phone trying to walk down the fire escape.
image source unknown
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Don’t feel too bad. It says “Director of Corporate Communications” on my business cards and I work in a real office, but my dad thinks I’m a secretary. To him, all women working in offices are secretaries.
I love that picture.
Also, my entire family thinks I’m “playing” on the computer. No, I don’t go to school, work, write or anything else.
Although my daughter did have me pegged the other day when she asked if I was done tweeting so she could play her games.
She’s 6.
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