Day #176 Writing Through COVID-19: Dad on the Internet

My sister Adrienne called. She's worried about our dad. 

He (again) clicked on a scam email, this one offering a "free" watch. When he punched in his credit card info for "shipping," he got a message saying his card was invalid. At that point, he called my sister.

It turns out his credit card is fine. He had merely (thankfully!) entered the card number incorrectly. Adrienne reminded him that nothing is free, he doesn't need another watch, and he is not to click on tempting offers in his email.

"You might have to remind me of that every six months," he said.

More like every six days, she thought. 
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Then Facebook.

My dad never fully understood Facebook when he joined several years ago. He tended to post personal messages on his main feed. Luckily he is a kind and civil person, so his mistakes were odd but benign. He hasn't logged on for months. In July when he and my mother had birthdays, I pulled up his page to read them the many loving comments left by well-wishers. It was Facebook at its best. 

Recently the descendants of Iva Orr and Wayne Berryhill have opened a private page for sharing photos and memories. Adrienne thought my dad would enjoy it, so she logged him back on. 

Soon he was typing comments, but he struggled to post them. 

When he asked for assistance, Adrienne read what he'd written. "I don't understand what you're trying to say," she said. 

He repeated an odd analogy, comparing his relationship to his nephew John to his brother Gerry's relationship to my brother Stafford. (Sorry, it's hard to relay a nonsensical comment in a way that makes sense.)

In his attempt to post his thoughts, he'd written "Lee John Berryhill."

Adrienne suggested they shut the computer down and restart it.
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Then she called me, distressed.

For several years we've considered our dad to be the brains of our parents' combined capacity as an aging couple. Our mother is strong physically; our dad can still think clearly.

COULD think clearly.
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As a psychiatrist, my dad once told me that if he could cure any disease, it would be schizophrenia. The illness disproportionately strikes brilliant people, in their 20s, on the cusp of adulthood. It contorts what might have been our world's brightest potential into debilitating struggles for survival.

I thought of that tonight. 

My dad was always fit and athletic. It's been sad to see him lose his physical abilities. 

But the core of who he is has lain in his keen and nimble mind. 

Watching that go is hard.

Enough for tonight.
Be well.
Write.

Allison