My Father's Computer

A laptop, about six years old, with a small crack on the bottom left corner of the screen, sits on a kitchen table in Pittsburgh. The laptop is used, by an eighty-two-year-old man, mostly to read the newspaper and to look at photographs. The laptop is not, in any obvious way, used for anything else.

The man is a father. The father is, by the daughter's account, has owned, in the years the daughter has been alive, a number of computers. The father has owned three laptops and one desktop. The desktop, which the father used for work, is in the basement. The laptops are stacked, in no particular order, on a shelf in the father's office. The current laptop — the one with the crack — is the only laptop the father has, in the last three years, actually used.

The daughter visits the father, in Pittsburgh, about four times a year. The daughter has, on most visits, sat beside the father while the father has used the laptop. The daughter has, in the years the daughter has been doing this, learned a particular kind of patience.

What the father does

The father opens the laptop in the morning, after breakfast. The father opens the laptop on the kitchen table, because the office, in the morning, is too cold.

The father reads the newspaper. The newspaper, in the father's case, is the digital edition of the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, which the father has, since 2017, subscribed to. The father reads the front page. The father reads the local section. The father reads, occasionally, the obituaries, which the father reads with a particular attention the daughter has, in the years the daughter has been watching the father do this, decided is, mostly, about checking who has died.

The father looks at photographs. The photographs are, in the father's case, the photographs the father has, over the years, taken — of the father's wife, of the daughter, of the daughter's sister, of the grandchildren, of the dog the family had when the daughter was twelve, of the house in Pittsburgh, in various seasons, in various lights. The father scrolls, slowly, through the photographs. The father stops, occasionally, on a photograph, and looks at the photograph for a while.

The father does not, in general, do anything else with the laptop. The father does not email. The father does not, in any obvious way, use social media. The father does not, in particular, watch videos, which the father has, in the years the daughter has been alive, decided are not for the father.

What the father has asked

The father has, in the years the daughter has been visiting, asked the daughter a number of questions about the laptop.

The father has asked, in particular, why the laptop is slow. The daughter has, in the years the daughter has been visiting, given the father a number of answers, none of which have, in any lasting way, helped. The daughter has told the father it is because the father has too many tabs open. The daughter has told the father it is because the father needs to restart the laptop. The daughter has told the father it is because the laptop is, in the abstract, six years old, which is, in computer years, very old.

The father has nodded, on most visits. The father has, on most visits, closed some tabs. The father has, on most visits, restarted the laptop. The laptop has, on most visits, continued to be slow.

The father has asked, also, why the crack is there. The daughter has told the father, on several visits, that the daughter does not know. The father has, on several visits, told the daughter that the father does not, in fact, remember how the crack was there. The father has, on several visits, looked at the crack with the particular expression of a person who is, in some way, not going to fix the crack.

What the daughter has learned

The daughter has learned, in the years the daughter has been watching the father use the laptop, that the daughter is, in this, the daughter of the father.

The daughter has learned this because the daughter has, in the years the daughter has been watching the father, been struck, repeatedly, by how little the daughter can actually help. The daughter has learned this because the help the daughter can offer — closing tabs, restarting, explaining, again, what a browser is — has, in the years the daughter has been offering the help, not, in any meaningful way, helped.

The daughter has learned, also, that the father does not, in fact, need much help. The laptop is, in the father's case, mostly a tool for two things — reading the newspaper, and looking at photographs. The laptop does these things, on most days, adequately. The laptop does these things, on most days, well enough.

The crack is, in the father's case, not a problem. The slowness is, in the father's case, not a problem. The fact that the father does not, in any obvious way, use the laptop for anything else is, in the father's case, not a problem.

The daughter has, in the years the daughter has been watching the father, decided that the laptop is, in the father's case, fine.

What the daughter has thought

The daughter has thought, in the years the daughter has been watching the father, about what it means to use a piece of technology in a way the daughter would, in the abstract, consider insufficient.

The daughter has thought, in particular, about the laptop as a thing the father has, in the years the daughter has been watching the father, made the father's own. The laptop is, in the father's case, not a general-purpose device. The laptop is, in the father's case, a particular kind of window — onto the newspaper, onto the photographs, onto the small number of things the father has, in the years the father has been alive, decided to want to see.

The daughter has thought, also, about what the laptop would mean to a child of the daughter, who would meet the daughter at forty, and who would have, in the years the child would have been alive, used a great many pieces of technology in a great many ways. The daughter has thought about how, in the years the child would have been using these things, the child would have, in some way, used these things more than the father has.

The daughter has thought, finally, that the difference between the father's use and the daughter's use is, perhaps, smaller than the daughter had imagined. The laptop is, in the father's case, a particular kind of window. The laptop is, in the daughter's case, also a particular kind of window — onto the daughter's work, onto the daughter's email, onto the small number of things the daughter has, in the years the daughter has been alive, decided to want to see.

What the daughter will do

The daughter is going to keep visiting the father. The daughter is going to keep, on most visits, sitting beside the father while the father uses the laptop.

The daughter is going to keep, on most visits, answering the father's questions — about the slowness, about the crack, about the small number of things the father has, on most visits, decided to ask.

The daughter is going to keep, on most visits, not offering to fix what the father has not, in any obvious way, asked the daughter to fix.

The daughter is going to keep, on most visits, closing some tabs. The daughter is going to keep, on most visits, restarting the laptop. The daughter is going to keep, on most visits, telling the father that the laptop is, in the abstract, six years old, which is, in computer years, very old.

The daughter is going to keep, on most visits, watching the father look at the photographs. The daughter is going to keep, on most visits, watching the father scroll. The daughter is going to keep, on most visits, watching the father stop, occasionally, on a photograph, and look at the photograph for a while.

The daughter is going to keep, on most visits, not asking the father what the father is looking at. The daughter is going to keep, on most visits, letting the father have the photograph, for as long as the father wants the photograph.

The laptop is, in the father's case, a particular kind of window. The window is, on most mornings, open.