“So, mommy has something to tell you,” she said, referring to herself both in the third person and as ‘mommy’ to indicate that she was about to ask me for something.

“What is it, mother?”  I asked wearily, addressing her as ‘mother’ to let her know I was on to her.

“Mommy has a MySpace page,” she said, “and I would like you to be my friend.  On MySpace.”

“Oh, okay,” I said, relieved that it was something simple.  ”No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t have a MySpace page, mother.”  I had been providing tech-support to the rest of the family for years, and had held my mother’s hand through getting her first ever free webmail account, using a browser for the first time, downloading plug-ins, and configuring MSN Messenger.  I had also been doing my best over the years to keep her up at least somewhat in the loop with internet culture, though mostly this consisted of letting her know the email forwards she sent my way hadn’t been funny since the late 90s.  This was her first foray into social media, and it was done entirely on her own.  Perhaps the old lady was finally starting to get a little internet savvy, although I doubted this since she was still on dial-up and my earlier query as to whether or not the family cat can haz cheezburger had drawn only a blank stare.

“Why don’t you have a MySpace page?  I thought you were supposed to know everything about the Internet.”  A subtle goad at my competence.  I declined to rise to the bait.

“I’ve never felt the need to get one.  Besides, mother,” and now I launched into my own defensive tactics, “you don’t need my as a MySpace friend, you have me as a real life friend.  Also, I’m like your kid and stuff.”

“I know.  I just don’t have that many MySpace friends, and I would like to have more.”

“Well, mom, how about all those nice ladies you go to church with?  Maybe their kids can set them up with MySpace pages so they can be your friends in cyberspace.”

“Hmph.  You know, Ashley is my MySpace friend.”

“I.”  Twitch.  ”What.”  Twitch.  ”Mother, you’re MySpace friends with my ex-girlfriend?”  This sort of thing never happened back when all we had was AOL.  I maintained a good friendship with my ex, but still.  ”How long has this been going on?”

“She was one of my first MySpace friends.”

“Okay.”  Time to recover gracefully and bring this to a close.  ”Well, I’m, you know, glad and stuff.  About your MySpace friends. Including Ashley.  And I tell you what, mother — in the event that I should ever feel the need to get my own MySpace page at some point in the future, I, your second-born son, which is almost as good as a first-born son, promise that I will add you as my very first MySpace friend.  Cool?  Can we go back to enjoying our tea now?”

She considered this.  ”You really don’t have a MySpace?”

“No, mother.”

She sighed.  ”Okay then.”  And all this interweb speak must have triggered another memory, because suddenly she perked up and asked, “What about that webpage you used to have?  Iron Fist or whatever you named it.”

“Oh, yeah.  Ha ha.  Yeah, mom, I don’t really, ah, do that anymore.”  And I am not telling you where I moved it or showing you how easy it is to find with a search engine, because I do not need you calling me again to ask if I am getting any decent meals in between all that drinking I do.

“That’s too bad.  Some of those things you wrote were pretty funny.  It’s just a shame you had to use all that naughty language.”

“Yeah, mom.  I know.”

We shared a wordless moment sipping at our tea, and then: “You promise you’ll add me as a MySpace friend if you ever get a MySpace?”

“Yes, mother.  I promise.  Besides, these days everyone…”

“Hmm?”

“…uh, nothing.”  It’s probably for the best if she doesn’t find out about Twitter just yet.

Share on Tumblr