As I hung up the phone, that great Jim Croce oldie from the '70's rang through my mind:

You don't tug on Superman's cape

You don't spit into the wind

You don't pull the mask off the old Lone Ranger ...

And you don't talk your
  comfortably retired, 
  totally non-computer literate, 
  3 hour driving time distant 
parents into buying a computer, either. 

Actually, I hadn't really tried to talk to them about computers since Dad had a few choice words with me a couple of years ago. Dad spent his whole working life pounding nails in construction work and he knew how to get your attention.

"Dearest son, don't you think that I've earned just a few years of peaceful rest now that I've retired? I think maybe there are one or two things I'd rather do than spend my days trying to figure out how computers work."

… or words to that effect. After all, this is a family magazine.

Anyway, after Dad counseled me, I dropped the subject for years. Then, a couple of months ago, Momma called and announced, "I've decided that I want a computer." Since that fateful day, there were times when I thought it would have been easier to simply change my name and move to Utah where nobody would ever find me again.

The first time I heard the word "computer" was when my son came home from college for a few days. He was taking a new class, like algebra or something, and it involved a computer. I think my husband and I tried to ignore it. It was a definite threat to our old secure feeling of independence when you had to ask a perfect stranger for help. And if you didn't want to ask for help, then you just better not buy that new thing.

But slowly, I began to face the fact that if you didn't have at least an elementary handshake understanding of computers, then you were missing out on a lot. Rest homes were filled with people like that. There was no middle ground. You either accepted this new world or you stood on the side lines.

So I knew I had to give it a try. I could put it in the living room - television wasn't that great anymore. So I called my son and said, "I've decided that I want a computer." Little did I know what was ahead.

The First Problem - Buying a Computer

I've bought a lot of computers. Buying this one gave me sweaty palms like I haven't had since that first IBM PC so many years ago. Your decision on a new computer usually doesn't determine whether you're going to have a good time next Thanksgiving Day.

On the day that my son arrived with his truck packed with boxes, my computer vocabulary consisted of two words: 'stuff' and 'things'. I watched with dismay as my otherwise fairly neat living room became filled with packing foam, plastic bags, invoices, instruction booklets and, most important, fear. My son seemed to think that I knew something - anything - about this computer. I didn't. This fact became so demoralizing and real in the next several days.

I had just spent over $2000 for something so alien that I knew it would explode if I so much as touched a wrong button. As I watched, I continued to pretend that I knew green wires from red wires. Stop the clock. Who was this person who seemed to know all about this computer? I was the teacher. I taught him about grasshoppers and snails and the correct way to chop weeds.

Meanwhile, my husband was going between the attic and the basement to figure out how to get a telephone wire to the chosen spot in a 60 year old house that was built when electric lights were a refinement rather than a necessity.

The Moment of Truth … Installing the System

Trusting that the manufacturer had provided a complete, ready to run system, I didn't unpack the boxes until I delivered them to my parents' home. The system went in with no problems, however, and in less than an hour, we had everything connected and working on a card table in the living room. Then the real work started.

I always had my laptop when I visited my parents; and my mother had a little experience working on outdated PC's at the local public library, so I knew that Momma had some understanding of what we were doing as we started the one-and-only training session I was going to be able to give her. It quickly became apparent that Momma was being polite when she watched me surf the net during earlier visits home. This was going to be a real education for both of us.

The first barrier was the mouse. As I coached Momma, the mouse pointer crawled across the screen so slowly it was painful to watch. The only time the mouse came to life was when I would say, "Click the left mouse button … now!" Her finger would stab at the mouse and the pointer would jump several inches across the screen … usually doing something entirely different.

"That wasn't the right program. We're going to have to close that program and try again."

This was going to be a lot harder than I thought.

The display was an unexpected barrier, too. I decided that Momma needed every advantage possible so I selected an upgraded 19 inch monitor for her system. It worked great and produced a clear, sharp image. But where I saw dialogs, task bars, and the Windows desktop, it became clear that Momma just saw colored lines and pictures - each one having no different meaning than any other.

When I had to leave the next day, Momma had negotiated her way through a couple of programs and I had verified that her Internet connection worked, but I knew that we were all on shaky ground.

Computers should come equipped with a box of tissues because you'll cry, a bottle of antacid because your stomach will churn, and a heat pad for the ache between your shoulders from the STRESS. My son explained patiently with words I didn't understand. To me, a desktop was something one dusted and a menu was for dinner. I thought icons were found in Greek churches. After my son left, I was on my own with a sheaf of handwritten notes. The real fear began.

I tried two clicks on the … "network" … "icon." Hallelujah! It worked! Never mind what was on the screen. I had broken a barrier. I was there. Oh infinitesimal drops of sweet success. My notes said that the "X" in the corner would get back to the starting screen. I clicked. It worked! Good old familiar starting screen. It was like finding your car on a crowded parking lot. Two clicks on the network icon. Yippee! Click on the upper right "X." Hey! I'm a computer wizard.

But after a while this began to get a little boring. Hey! What the heck. Click, click. Now this was better - even sound and pictures. Maybe this was the fabled Internet. I watched and clicked each time the words said, "Next." They also said, "Click here if you want to subscribe. Well, I wasn't born yesterday. So I clicked, "No" and continued to click "Next." After a while, I noticed that I had seen these screens before - maybe two or three times. And there wasn't any "X" at the top to click. Time to call my son again.

I could never recall the steps we took but we finally did reach the old familiar start up screen again. What I learned was that even in computerland, there are con-men.

In the days to follow, my long distance phone bill tripled. Debugging over the phone was almost out of the question. I couldn't say things like, "Check the task bar to see if the program is running." I had to say things like, "Describe what you see at the very bottom of the computer screen."

Our phone conversations often went like this …

"Click the mouse." 
"Left button?" 
"Right."
"Oh, right button." 
"No, left." 
"I thought you said right." 
"Let's start over. Click the left mouse button." 
"Now?" 
"Yes." 
"Nothing happened." 

< … sigh … > 

"Describe where the pointer is on the screen right now."

But telephone technical help wasn't the most important thing. The important thing turned out to be the sheer will to simply not give up. Momma told me stories of stress headaches and her deep fear of "breaking" her computer. Most of our time was spent just talking about it rather than solving specific problems. After my pep talks, Momma would jump back in and give it another try.

The second most important thing was Solitaire! Before I left, I made sure that both of my parents had played a game of Solitaire all by themselves with no prompting from me. That turned out to be the best decision I made. A week later, to my total amazement, my computer-hating Dad was telling me how often he could beat Solitaire.

We had reached the first goal!

When I turn on the power to my computer, I think that it is funny how doing that small step had terrified me just a week ago. Now it was like turning on the light switch. I connected to my Internet Service Provider (I think). Hey! It worked! As I scanned down the screen and began to read, I had the feeling of "Oh, this is great! This is pretty! This is interesting! It really was like traveling down a new highway - where both sides were lined with billboards advertising something.

Last night, we were up hours after our usual bedtime. We chased kites in China. We met a fellow and saw his garden in Australia and we even learned a few new things about panning gold. It sure beats television. And now I can't wait to communicate on a one-to-one basis with someone who loves to travel, sew, or watch birds. I know someone is out there. I'm a good teacher. Maybe I can help someone else enter computerland.

First Published by ComputerCredible Magazine (RIP) June - July 1998