LEILA
But you feel like that with everything! You think everyone does that to you. If someone brings a comment up more than once, they’re picking on you.
AL
Exactly! The irony is that when I do it to you guys, you get upset and I stop and back off. You, on the other hand, keep coming at me and never let up.
DEBORAH
We’re joking! Kidding around.
AL
Not when it comes to my driving!
LEILA
You just don’t get our jokes.
AL
I’m a very funny guy. I have a great sense of humor! But when it comes to my driving, I don’t get your jokes. “Why can’t you speed up?” That’s not funny!
LEILA
But you do drive really slowly! What I don’t get is why you’re always the one getting pulled over.
AL
Thank you, Leila. Way to have my back!
LEILA
You’re like Driving Miss Daisy, whereas Mom could be in The Fast and the Furious.
AL
So, I take a little more conservative approach in the city than your mother does because I know how crazy the other drivers can be. I don’t tailgate or push—
DEBORAH
Are you saying I tailgate?
LEILA
It’s kind of embarrassing when you tell cabdrivers how to drive. I mean, it is their job . . .
DEBORAH
I’m giving them tips, suggestions.
LEILA
Have you ever seen a suggestion box in a cab?
DEBORAH
There are plenty of drivers who are very open to it. Some even say to me, “Sounds great!” or “That worked out very well.”
AL
Oh yeah? How many times?
LEILA
Once.
DEBORAH
A few.
AL
A few? I don’t think so! You’re always coaching them to go, go, go . . . make the light, turn left, go through the park, don’t go up Madison. . . . The drivers are usually a wreck by the end of the ride.
LEILA
We did get into a wreck one time.
DEBORAH
Yeah, the one time I was quiet in the backseat! Leila and I were both looking at our phones instead of paying attention to the driver.
Look, I am not abrasive with my tips. I am very friendly. Like today at Macy’s. I made a suggestion to the salesgirl. I told her they needed a better system. She said, “You’re right.”
AL
What is she going to say? She was trapped! She wanted to make sure you got out of the store and never came back!
DEBORAH
I think she appreciated it.
LEILA
Mom, nobody appreciates your tips except you.
DEBORAH
As a citizen of the world, I feel it is my responsibility to help my fellow p—
LEILA
A citizen of the world? Even you know that sounds ludicrous!
NICKY
Can you all please stop fighting?
DEBORAH
Nicky, we aren’t fighting. We are just having a lively family discussion. . . .
NICKY
Well, it’s a LOUD discussion!
AL
Ahhhh . . . Welcome to my world. When we get in the car, I turn to Deborah and hold out the keys and say, “Here you go . . .” I’m a much better passenger. Happier too. At least there are no arguments.
DEBORAH
Maybe I should try a day of no suggestions?
LEILA
I’ve never had one of those.
AL
Ooooh, listen . . . Is that a chorus of angels?
• • •
Anyone who has ever been in a relationship or who has kids has endured this kind of banter at one time or another. Being busted on by the ones we love just goes with the territory. When your relationship is strong and healthy and sits on a solid foundation, these types of exchanges won’t create disharmony or bigger issues. They’re rooted in love—deep love and appreciation for who we really are, flaws and all. You see, we all have our flaws. It’s what makes us human and, yes, vulnerable. There’s great strength in allowing that vulnerability to show from time to time. It’s an unwritten rite of passage as a parent that your kids will make fun of you no matter how cool you think you are, how hip you try to be and how hard you work to hang on to the good ol’ days when they couldn’t (or wouldn’t dare) tell you what they really think.
On the other hand, we want our children to go out into the world able to speak their minds—have a voice, share their opinions—even if we don’t like what they have to say about our driving, how we dress, the music we listen to . . . They’re expressing themselves in ways that will make them stronger, happier and better-adjusted young adults as they enter the real world. So like it or not, you’re the litmus test that allows them to find their voice and discover their boundaries. Yeah, we know it’s not always fun to be the guinea pig—but hey, someday they’ll be in your shoes, as parents with kids who make fun of them, and you’ll have the chance to just sit back, smile and think, “Ahhh . . . payback . . . it’s a lovely thing!” Or as Al’s mother and just about every other parent on the planet used to say, “Someday yours are going to do to you what you’ve done to me.”
9
Can You Hear Me Now?
DEBORAH
How Do You Work This Thing?
It’s no secret within my family and circle of friends that I am not entirely comfortable with technology. Given that, it was rather ironic that ABC News assigned me, along with the octogenarian Barbara Walters, to the digital committee and charged me with helping the network move forward in the digital age. Barbara had recently begun tweeting and was building a huge following. With the help of my energetic and sunny assistant, Laura, I was also beginning to tweet and had joined Facebook as a way of connecting with viewers who are now getting more and more of their news from their iPhones and tablets instead of their televisions.
Like so many of you, on any given day I am snapping pictures of an interview I am doing or of a snowstorm in New York and tweeting my thoughts on it, or doing my best to create Facebook posts that entice viewers to watch my upcoming stories on ABC. The idea, of course, is to connect with our viewers and make them a part of the story. It’s also a way to stay relevant and to communicate with the younger audience these days. And according to my sixteen-year-old daughter, Leila, it makes me look hip and with it.
But the truth is, I am not all that interested in being hip or with it! I must confess that my participation in the digital world is somewhat against my will. I know I sound like an old fogy, but I find new technology exhausting. Yes, I enjoy sending my family a video of Nicky getting a new tae kwon do belt just seconds after he got it. And yes, I love checking my electronic calendar to make a doctor appointment while I am on the phone with the receptionist. But all the texting, apps and programming often leave me confused and stressed.
Life used to be pretty simple. TVs had only a few channels to choose from, people actually talked to one another on the phone and technology was something I found fascinating and possibly helpful—not draining!
I grew up bursting with excitement and feeling like endless possibilities were in front of me. But now, when everyone seems obsessed with the latest cool app or game and Leila complains in no uncertain terms that my Instagram pictures are so yesterday and that I need to check out Vine, I can’t help but feel like I am living in the wrong era.
Okay, I will admit that I like getting reviews of a new restaurant or ordering a car service with the click of a finger, and as a mom of a tween and a teen, it makes life a lot easier! I can text Leila to remind her to take the dog for a walk if I am running late, or discreetly send Al an e-mail from a crash editing session for 20/20 to let him know I can�
�t meet him as planned. When I hear the swoosh from my iPhone, I know my life just got a lot easier. That’s the beauty of the digital age.
But while I accept the power of technology, I haven’t totally embraced it. Let’s start with the glitch factor, like when you think you’ve canceled a meeting and later find out that somehow your phone froze or the message bounced back and no one got the message you wouldn’t be there as planned. And who hasn’t accidentally pressed send before thoroughly checking the content of the message—or worse, without taking a beat to think about it? This can be embarrassing—or even close to disastrous.
Not long ago I was working with a producer on a story about children orphaned after losing both parents to HIV. We had traveled to Africa and back to interview kids who were bravely carrying on with their lives despite poverty and the heartbreak of losing their parents at such a young age. It was a powerful story, and I wanted to make sure we struck the right tone. My producer and I wrote the piece together, putting in long hours in the edit room to weigh in on the shots and the interviews that would be used.
There are some correspondents who leave the production work to their producers. But I like to be involved at every stage. I was feeling especially proud of my work on this particular story, so I decided to toot my own horn a bit when replying to a quick e-mail from my executive producer. I wrote how pleased I was with the piece as it was shaping up and then reminded him that I wrote a good portion of the story he was about to see. In no way did I mean to dis my producer, a talented and capable veteran at the network. I simply wanted to be recognized for my hard work on this major undertaking. Let’s face it—women are often more reluctant than men to take credit for their work projects. So at that moment I was determined to own my efforts. Unfortunately, I realized that I had chosen “Reply All” rather than “Reply.”
Ugh.
Not only would my executive producer receive my e-mail but my producer would as well.
Too late.
I had already pressed send.
It took only a couple of minutes before I had my first reply.
Yup. You guessed it.
It wasn’t from my executive producer.
It was an angry e-mail from my producer suggesting that I was undermining and backstabbing him. My face burned with embarrassment as I realized that he was on the e-mail chain.
Stupid me!
Argh.
I spent the next thirty minutes on the phone with him, trying to undo this unintended damage.
The next day I even took him to lunch, apologizing profusely for how my words had sounded. It took some time, but we eventually got past the incident. To this day, I always double-check the “To” line on my e-mails . . . and even count to three before I press send.
Although I realize mistakes happen, all of the pressure can sometimes get to me. That’s when I want to go home, put my feet up and just relax in the comfort of home. I miss the good old days when I walked into the house and saw the blinking red light on the answering machine in the kitchen announcing that I had messages waiting. There was something warm and cozy about knowing that with the push of a (clearly marked!) button, I could hear, “Hey, this is Mom. Just calling to say hey and see how ya doin’. Call me back.”
Now I don’t know how to retrieve messages on our home phone, so I never know who called or when! That’s because it is a combination phone, clock, intercom system and maybe calculator too.
I secretly long for the early days in our marriage when I bought a VCR that I could program in the dark and that responded to “play” and “fast-forward” at the drop of a hat. Now I’m lucky to be able to turn on the television with the massive remote. I call our audiovisual system the “Starship Enterprise”—except in space, no one would be able to hear me scream. There are no machines, no tapes. We still have a few rogue DVDs lying around the house, but mostly we rely on Apple TV these days. And now add Netflix to the equation—just one more thing to make me feel like a high-tech failure. Turning on the TV has become a scary thing for me in our house, which is pretty embarrassing since I work in television!
Some days when I have a picture but no sound, I beg Nicky to come help. From the age of nine he could troubleshoot the system faster than a cable technician. There is an episode in the television comedy Modern Family where Claire Dunphy, the high-strung mom, is coming unglued because she can’t figure out how to work the new remote control. The small gadget with its innumerable buttons could just as easily control an unmanned rocket as far as she’s concerned. She can’t get the TV on, and once she does, she can’t figure out how to adjust the volume. She soon tosses the remote at the TV and storms out of the room in frustration. I am Claire.
Al just had our remote consolidated into an iPad. “This will be easier and cooler,” he said.
Of course, deep down, I knew it wouldn’t.
On the very first day after we made the transition, I wanted to watch Good Morning America while doing a short workout before heading to the office. I love catching Robin and the gang before work. I grabbed the gleaming iPad from the console table and swiped with confidence. Myriad icons popped up.
“House,” “Local,” “Audio,” “Apple TV,” “DVR,” “DVD.”
I just wanted an “on” button.
There was none to be found.
I tried several combinations, thinking, “It can’t be this hard.”
Suddenly the big-screen TV was ablaze with family vacation photos.
“Aww, there’s Nicky smiling on the beach.”
Nice, but I wanted to watch GMA, not reminisce about family vacations.
So I tried another random combination of swipes and pokes.
Now I was faced with a blank screen—no icons at all.
Uh-oh.
Finally, I spotted a small button labeled “Power.”
Bingo!
There was Robin laughing with George Stephanopoulos.
All right, I thought, maybe technology isn’t so bad.
After my workout, when I attempted to turn off the TV so I could get to work, pressing the power button didn’t work. Then I realized the iPad battery was running low.
Argh! Maybe that was the problem.
I quickly plugged it into the charger while I showered and got dressed. When it was time to try again, I searched the icons, looking for the almighty power button—but it was now gone.
No!
After a few frantic moments I was prepared to launch the iPad, Claire Dunphy–style, at the TV. I gave the iPad one last desperate swipe and finally found the power button. The TV was finally off. I’m not sure I will ever want to turn it on again.
My kids are embarrassed that something so simple can be so hard for me and that I don’t speak their digital language. They roll their eyes and tell me I am holding on to the past. Yes, I am . . . by my fingernails. But come on, life just felt calmer a few years ago. Their world is all about choices . . . so many choices.
Should I order the skirt on this site or that one?
Want to download a movie on Apple TV?
You’re wrong about that, Mom. . . . I know ’cause I just Googled it.
Argh!
Call me a Luddite, but when I listen to music, I want to put in the CD and play the whole thing.
Today, Leila wouldn’t be caught dead without a playlist on her iPhone. Even Nicky is strutting to One Direction, Katy Perry and Usher on his iPad!
How about Alicia Keys or Barry White, anyone?
For a full forty minutes?
Growing up I liked talking to my friends on the phone, and it never seemed like a burden to have to call them up if we wanted to get together. Plus, it meant we had to learn how to talk to adults if we wanted to talk to our friends, because their parents always answered the phone first. Yes, sometimes I hung up when Mrs. Ingram answered . . . or I hemmed and hawed uncomfo
rtably for thirty seconds before she put Denise on the phone . . . but I learned how to exchange a sentence with an adult.
Leila only texts her friends.
I once asked her to actually call one of her friends instead of text.
“Why would I do that?” Leila asked. “Then I would have to speak to her mom.”
My point exactly.
Al has less trouble with the digital world than I do. His iPhone is practically glued to his head. Even when he goes to the bathroom in the middle of the night, I can see the soft glow of the blue light while he checks e-mails. Am I the only one who finds this crazy? He tries to disconnect and unplug from technology when we are together as a family, but truthfully, he has become obsessed with his phone and being connected at all times.
My husband is an information addict. He likes to know things for the sake of knowing, whether it’s important or not. He sleeps with his phone next to the bed and even if he’s sleepwalking, he will pick it up in the middle of the night to see if he has missed a headline or a breaking news story. If it’s weather related, I get it. But if it’s another YouTube cat video or a headline about an actor who was just fired from a movie . . .
Put the phone down!
I’ve never been bold enough to actually swipe Al’s phone, but I’ve been known to “accidentally” place the newspaper over it once or twice, making him less aware of where it was for a while.
Lately I have been trying to persuade my family to try “unplugged Sundays”. . . or at the very least rally behind an electronic-free zone during the dinner hour and actually have a conversation with one another. Leila has a blinking strobe light that alerts her every time she gets a text—which is about every twenty seconds or so. Nicky just got his first phone. We held off for as long as we could. And of course there’s the iPad. And when we haven’t seen him for an hour or so . . . guess where he is. In a corner texting or playing some game! I know we can’t fight the future, but I want my kids to know that life can be satisfying without gadgets on all the time.
Been There, Done That Page 17
