26.

STOP TRYING TO UPGRADE YOUR MOTHER

Dad calls from the living room. “It’s time for the news!”

“On my way!” Mom answers, scurrying in from the kitchen, as she does every single day at 6:26 p.m.

I stand in front of my parents’ chairs, facing them, my back to the TV, and beam. I have no big plans to organize or overhaul on this visit. No car trunk full of supplies to try to transform their home. But I did think of one thing I could add to their lives that could really make a difference.

“You’re blocking the TV, sweetie!” Mom says, waving urgently toward the chair next to her. “Have a seat!”

Mom and Dad are doing wonderfully well on their own, but I want to make these years the very best they can be. It’s hard to watch them be diminished even a little by all the parts of themselves and the world that don’t work the way they used to. I can’t stand the loss of control I know they feel, and I want to help.

“Sit!” they order me. “It’s time for the news!”

I don’t sit. My moment has arrived.

“Ta-da!” I say, pulling a remote from behind my back. “While you two were at the eye doctor this morning, I had TiVo installed!”

“We’d love to talk about your day later,” Dad says, picking up the remote he keeps next to his chair. “But the news is starting!”

“You don’t have to watch the news when the news is on anymore, Mom and Dad!” I say excitedly. “You’re in charge!”

Dad’s too busy pressing buttons on his remote to hear. Mom’s too busy leaning over to help Dad for my words to register. “Something’s wrong with this thing!” Dad laments.

“You have a new remote now!” I say, holding up the one in my hand. “Your old one is finished! Your new one has different buttons that will change your life!”

Mom and Dad stop. Their eyes flash from their old remote to me. They look stunned, as if I were the nightly news anchor and have just announced a hostile invasion of their living room. As though my words—new remote, old one is finished, different buttons—were little bombs I dropped on their world, not the happy, empowering surprise I intended.

“Look! With this . . .” I start.

“No time for talking!” Dad interrupts, shaking his head vigorously and poking at the buttons on his remote. “Let’s get the news on before we miss the whole show!”

I put the entire room on pause and mute for a minute so I can think.

Have I just barreled into my parents’ world with yet another brilliant invention that will ruin their lives? Me? Their self-proclaimed protector?

Surely this is different.

This isn’t like the day the simple sewing machine that was Mom’s pride and joy finally broke and got replaced with a new one that was so complicated she quit sewing.

This isn’t like when Dad’s perfect one-button camera became obsolete and was replaced with the new “user-friendly” one that was so hard to use he never wanted to take pictures anymore.

This isn’t like the computer that replaced their nice reliable typewriter and ruined everything. Ruined self-expression. Ruined letter writing. Ruined expense keeping. Ruined list making. Ruined filing. Ruined nice-looking envelopes. Ruined ever being able to find anything.

Is it?

I’ve seen Superman wrestle a blister pack of printer ink cartridges to the ground to pry it open, only to have the printer flash a “cartridge not installed properly” screen. I’ve watched my gentle Mom beat her little fists on her new high-efficiency washer because “It keeps trying to wash my clothes with no water! It won’t let me put in enough soap! It locks the lid with no warning!” I’ve seen them huddle together trying to get a human on the phone or find a troubleshooting guide online. I’ve seen the next generation of everything from cars to can openers make them feel less competent and less connected to the world. As if enough, at age ninety, isn’t already slipping away without their permission.

I can’t stand how valiantly they’ve tried to change with the times and how often they feel frustrated by modern life. I’ve promised myself I wouldn’t allow one more thing in this house that could make them feel inadequate in any way. I didn’t just do it. Did I? No! I got them TiVo because it will give them control, not take it away! It will put power in their hands!

I look at the new remote in my hand. At all those new buttons. I look at Mom and Dad . . .

They sit quietly. Stoically. They gave up on the remote they were trying to make work, as well as all hope of watching the news tonight, several minutes ago and have simply been watching me. Their initial stunned look has settled into the gentle, world-weary gaze of the Greatest Generation. Full of patience, resilience, tolerance, and an unbelievable willingness to try to be grateful for improvements they wish someone wasn’t trying to inflict upon them.

The Gracious Generation. That’s what they are. I forge ahead, determined to prove that this unwanted improvement will be different. I un-pause and un-mute myself, raise the new TiVo remote in the air, and play the highlights of my presentation.

“You’re not missing the news, Mom and Dad!” I say in my most enthusiastic voice. “It’s being recorded right now by TiVo, without a videotape! You can watch the news anytime you want!

“You can start watching the news from the beginning even if the news is half over in real time!

“You can watch in real time, but if you need to leave the room for a few minutes, you can hit pause and then resume watching without missing one second!

“You can skip past the commercials! You never have to watch an irritating ad again!

“You can record all those great PBS shows you circle in the paper that don’t come on until nine, when it’s too late to start watching anything!”

Even as the words leave my mouth, I’m thinking this sounds worse. Worse than their incomprehensible new microwave. Worse than their new twenty-five-function blender. TiVo won’t only be tricky to learn. It will destroy some of the things they can still count on to give structure and purpose to their days. Printed TV schedules. Clocks. Calendars. The reason to be a certain place at a certain time. Things that ground them in a kind of security that’s already just a faint memory to my generation—an emotional safety net of a regular, predictable order of life that my daughter’s generation will never know.

Mom and Dad gaze at me sweetly anyway as I explain the thing I’ve brought that will ruin all of that. The wonderful new invention that will help make the precious rhythm of life obsolete.

“Well! Thank you!” Mom says, getting up, smiling politely. “What a lovely gift. We’ll have to study it.”

Dad gets up too, gives me a hug, and whispers in my ear, “So thoughtful, sweetie, but she gets a little confused by new things. After this nice gift, maybe we should stop trying to upgrade your mother.”

“But . . .” I say as they walk out of the room. I click the TV on and cue up the recording of the nightly news. “But . . . look, Mom and Dad!” I call to them. “The news is on! The exact same news that was on at six-thirty is on now! Your new TiVo saved it! Don’t you want to watch?”

I don’t have to hear their answer to know it. Know it and suddenly agree with it. I look at my watch. It’s 7:08 at Mom and Dad’s house in Florida.

I click the TV off. It isn’t time for the news.