Facebook. Parents. Shudders.
While I’m happy for my mom’s new grasp of gmail, I’m quite okay with her lacking knowledge on “that facebook thing.”
Oh Crap. My Parents Joined Facebook. highlights assorted embarassing or otherwise ridiculous comments and status updates left by parents on Facebook. Nice idea, although it would be even better if not for the bold, shadowy commentary that may very well be written by a parent in disguise.
The site also features postings from other relatives including aunts, grandparents, etc. Seriously, with all the parents out there rocking the book we’re at a loss for material? Get crackin’, Pa. Your child needs you still.
I think my mom has secret worries about me getting married and having children. And when I say “secret” I mean obvious concerns, most notably when she tells me that she hopes to have grandchildren at an age where she “can still pick them up,” for example.
When I lived in Texas and had to fly back east for holidays, she’d always tease (or perhaps pray) that I’d meet a rich and charming “oil tycoon” aboard the plane who would just whisk me away. Apparently, I would be flying in a plane built by the Wright Brothers as well, but that’s besides the point. My mother has always hoped for a rich, handsome man in my future and probably fears that my feminist and liberal nature will keep me from locking down the type of catch she has in mind.
And so now, after a long-term failed relationship under my belt and no grandchildren bouncing upon her knee, my mother seems to be taking a new approach. This evening, she let me know that oil is out and green energy is in. As a result, she has launched her new “green man” campaign. “You know, one of those green men with the fields,” she says. (It’s classic my mom to only have half of the idea formulated and to fill the rest of the sentence with phrases like “you know” and “that thing”.) No word yet on where or how I’ll find him, but no worries. “He’s out there,” she says. “Just you wait, you’ll see.”
Later on in the conversation, we somehow came upon the topic of ocean windmills. A surprising direction for a chat with my mom to go in considering that we started the hour detailing the ingredients in the clam chowder she and my grandmother made over the weekend (“I know you don’t like clam chowder, but it just wasn’t right the first time we had it. It needed more potatoes and carrots and stuff,” she says.) When I asked a few logistical questions about this new technology (do they float? what’s the cost?), she responded matter-of-factly with, “Well I don’t know, but see–you can ask your green man about it! There’s a conversation starter for you!”
“Ya know what? You’re right, Ma,” I say. “You found a way to bring it back. Thanks.”
Oh sweet windmills, you are the key...