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Boy, have I been getting sidetracked!
My original plan was to tell my life story. To leave behind a record for Chip. But every time I start, I roll across some switch in the track and my train of thought gets diverted. Yosemite. Menus. Screen-Free Week. And now, today, another unexpected (but wonderful) detour: the kids left me a Gratitude Box. They took a plain old shoebox, and with a few carefully trimmed sheets of construction paper, turned it into a life-affirming work of art. All around the edges, in big block letters, they wrote my favorite Meister Eckhart quote: “If the only prayer you ever say in your entire life is thank you, it will be enough.” But they left off the last words, “it will be enough.” Instead, the words “thank you ...” end on top of the box, next to an open slot. They glued a pad of rainbow-colored Post-It notes to one side of the box, and Velcroed a 4-color ballpoint pen to the other. I found the box on top of a library book of Ansel Adams’ black and white Yosemite photographs. Scanning the book, I came across this wonderful line: “Yosemite Valley, to me, is always a sunrise, a glitter of green and golden wonder in a vast edifice of stone and space.” Opening the box, I found the kids had already added the first note: “Thanks for taking us to Yosemite.” For a minute there, I got pretty choked up. We dads can be so emotional, especially when no one is around. I spent the next hour filling the box with gratitude. All I can say is, we’re going to need a lot more Post-It notes. Comments 
Media Jean: Your dad sure likes his Gratitude Box. 
Chip: Yeah. He’s on his second block of Post-Its.
Media Jean: It’s funny how just having a box makes you want to fill it.
Chip: Maybe we should throw in a few notes.
Media Jean: Definitely. But I had something else in mind.
Chip: What?
Media Jean: Well, what if we made 20 or 30 Gratitude Boxes?
Chip: I doubt even my dad could fill that many, and he’s a gratitude guru.
Media Jean: Not for us. For the town. I was reading “The Guerrilla Art Kit” by Keri Smith. She talks about creating art and then putting it in unexpected places, you know, to surprise people.
Chip: So we scatter Gratitude Boxes all around town?
Media Jean: Exactly! We can make them different sizes, too. One of those small tissue boxes would be perfect for stores. Put it by the tip jar in the bagel shop. I bet tips go way up!
Chip: We could put one in the post office. There’s always a line of grumpy-looking people.
Media Jean: Exactly! Tie one to the chain link fence at school.
Chip: Sneak into every doctor’s office and leave one in every waiting room.
Media Jean: On the bus.
Chip: In the library.
Media Jean: The bowling alley.
Chip: We could make a waterproof one for the park.
Media Jean: And the pool!
Chip: This is a great idea!
Media Jean: Yeah. Too bad Johnny wasn’t here. He could probably figure out a way to turn all this new-agey stuff into a product.
Chip: Yeah. He’s good at that.
Media Jean: Oh, well. I guess that’s how it is with business. You got to be in the right place at the-- 
Johnny: OK, OK, I’m here already!
Media Jean: I knew it! Lured you out, lurker!
Johnny: Fine, I admit I was lurking this one time. What matters now is turning this ThankYou Box into a viral product.
Chip: It’s just a box, some decorations, Post-It notes, and a pencil.
Johnny: And Coca-Cola is just sugar and carbonated water! Have you learned nothing from your time with me?
Media Jean: More than I ever wanted to know, actually.
Johnny: Very funny. Look, the most common, everyday object properly branded becomes a must-have product. Don’t think of it as a shoebox and decorations. Think “The Guerilla Gratitude Box.”
Chip: The Guerilla Gratitude Box?
Media Jean: I hate to say it, but that has a nice ring to it.
Johnny: Just wait until the cash starts rolling in!
Chip: I don’t know. Does everything have to be turned into a product?
Johnny: Are you kidding?! Of course it does!
Chip: But this is a Gratitude Box. Maybe some things should be left on a personal level.
Johnny: Please. When you turn personal expression into a consumer product, you give everyone the opportunity to benefit.
Media Jean: You mean you give everyone the opportunity to pay.
Johnny: And what’s wrong with paying if you get something out of it?
Media Jean: I suppose that’s true. And let’s face it, everyone can use more gratitude in their lives.
Johnny: Exactly! The Guerilla Gratitude Box can help an individual appreciate his or her life, motivate a family to be thankful for each other, inspire a community to come together. “The Guerilla Gratitude Box: Because ‘Thank You’ are the most important words you’ll ever say.”
Chip: Wow. I’d buy one.
Media Jean: Me too.
Johnny: We’ll sell a million of these!
Media Jean: I have to hand it to you, Johnny. You could sell anything to anyone.
Johnny: Why, thank you, Media Jean. That’s nice of you to say. Now stop idling around and get to work on those boxes! 
Comic strip from the series "The Gratitude Journal"
(Kid, Inc. Volume 2: The Batcave of Childhood) Have a thought for Bob? Write to us at [email protected]
Last night, I had a vision:
Chip, Media Jean and Johnny giving up their screens, not just for two weeks but three. All I had to do was nudge our Yosemite trip back a few days to dovetail with National Screen-Free Week. That’s when Alice has the kids and their families sign a Screen-Free pledge. That first screen-free week will become detox for the following two weeks in Yosemite! To back me up, I asked Alice to help with some research. Using screens to build an argument against screens may seem hypocritical. But I’m not arguing for zero screen usage. I’m arguing that there’s a screen epidemic in America that's turning into an AI disease, and we must do something about it. According to the Campaign for a Commercial-Free Childhood:
And that's not counting the recent studies showing that AI usage is physically deteriorating cognitive areas en the brain, or that those creating the tech won't let their own kids use it. Imagine what would happen if you gave 1 hour a day to screens and spent the other 4-5 hours creating or learning or training or exploring. If you love music, 4-5 hours of daily practice can take you to the concert halls. If you love writing, 4-5 hours a day will not only refine your craft but finish that languishing novel. Have more than one passion? Use those 4-5 hours to develop them all! Sink into your talents! Soak up your bliss! Invest in yourself and your future! Be a creator, not just a consumer! I’m getting ahead of myself, as usual. The point for now is to give Chip, Media Jean and Johnny an opportunity to experience life screen-free for three full weeks. And since two of those weeks will unfold in Yosemite, I’m hoping for a life-changing experience. Comments
Media Jean: Three weeks screen-free?!
Chip: I've never gone that long without screens.
Media Jean: Who in their right mind has?! The last time Miss Stillwater made us participate in Screen-Free Week, I went bonkers!
Chip: Ha ha! I remember! You dressed up like Little House on the Prairie and refused to use any technology.
Media Jean: Yeah, but Miss Stillwater called my bluff. She made Screen-Free Week into Little House on the Prairie Week.
Chip: That was a long week. My dad made me wash clothes by hand.
Media Jean: My parents wouldn't let me use the vacuum cleaner. I had to sweep the rug! You ever try to sweep a rug?!
Chip: Still, those stats are pretty amazing. And since my dad found them in a magazine at the doctor's office, those stats are a few years old. I'm sure it's way more now.
Media Jean: But they don't represent us! We don't spend hundreds of hours a month watching TV and streaming movies! Why should we be punished for someone else's viewing habits?!
Chip: We probably spend almost that much time online and on our phones.
Media Jean: That's different! That's interactive!
Chip: Well, that's sort of true.
Media Jean: We're Googling and social networking and creating, not just watching!
Chip: Last night, my dad told me about FOMO.
Media Jean: FOMO? That sounds R-rated.
Chip: FOMO stands for Fear Of Missing Out. It's a new anxiety disorder that's sweeping the world. People are so afraid they'll miss something on their social networks that they check their phones over 100 times a day. Some even sleep with their phones on the pillow so when they wake up in the middle of the night they can check for messages.
Media Jean: Ha ha! A cell phone instead of a teddy bear!
Chip: You have to admit, my dad makes a pretty good argument about spending more time doing what you love.
Media Jean: I suppose. Instead of 5 hours a day online, I could spend an hour drawing. I love art.
Chip: I could spend an hour a day writing stories. I used to make up stories all the time.
Media Jean: I loved those stories. You should write more.
Chip: What about your origami? Remember when you wanted to be an origami master?
Media Jean: I was getting pretty good too.
Chip: I could spend an hour a day on languages. I love computer languages, but I always wanted to learn more people languages, especially Japanese.
Media Jean: This is starting to sound fun! Let's take a pledge. For one year, I'll spend an hour a day drawing and an hour a day on origami. You'll spend an hour a day writing and an hour a day learning Japanese.
Chip: Counting weekends?
Media Jean: Let's not get carried away.
Chip: So just weekdays. That's about 260 days a year. 260 hours works out to over thirty 8-hour work days a year.
Media Jean: Wow! That's like a month full time on art and origami.
Chip: When you crunch the numbers, it's kind of amazing.
Media Jean: So it's a pledge?
Chip: It's a pledge!
Media Jean: On our honor?
Chip: On our honor!
Media Jean: One other thing: we tell no one — especially your dad or Miss Stillwater. Agreed?
Chip: Agreed!
Media Jean: The last thing we need is a smug adult smiling at us all year. 
Comic strip from the series "Screen-Free Week!
(Kid, Inc. Volume 1: Look Out, Tomorrow, Here We Come!) Have a thought for Bob? Write to us at [email protected]
I checked with Johnny’s dad and Media Jean’s parents. They’re excited and surprised that their kids want to go to Yosemite. Neither has shown much interest in camping. We’re all going to meet in a couple weeks to talk about the trip.
After my first visit to Yosemite, mom suggested we return each May. But dad wanted much more. He had only two weeks off all year, and he yearned to see all the great national parks “before I move on to that big wilderness in the sky.” "What about Sequoia and Yellowstone?" he argued. "How can we miss the Grand Canyon and the Smoky Mountains, the Rockies and the Tetons?" So the next May, when I was eight, we visited Sequoia National Park. We delved into Crystal Cave, hiked through the Giant Forest, and stood in awe before General Sherman, the largest tree in the world. It was beautiful. It was breathtaking. But it wasn’t Yosemite. After three days, dad reluctantly pointed the Ranchero west down Highway 198, took 99 north, branched off on 41 ... and in just a few hours, we were back in Yosemite Valley. Mom wrote in her journal, “There is something here that Bobby finds nowhere else. Yosemite is Pascal’s missing piece for him; Yosemite fills the God-size hole nothing else can fill. If I could, I would move our family here, just for him.” After that, we spent dad’s precious two weeks every year in Yosemite. I thought Yosemite was the one place we all loved most. But after dad passed so much sooner than any of us expected, mom shared her journal entries from that time. “He wouldn’t let me tell you,” she said. “But I thought you should know.” I was only thirteen when I read those entries, and they made me cry in a way I hadn’t cried before. I learned that each year, my dad secretly planned trips to Zion in Utah, Acadia in Maine, or his dream of dreams, Denali National Park in Alaska. And each year, thinking about his son’s mysterious connection to Yosemite, dad put his own maps and books aside and steered our family back to the one place he felt I needed to go. After he passed, I spent days in his office. I found an old gas station map with a hand-drawn checkbox by each national park he hoped to see. But only two boxes were checked: Sequoia and Yosemite. The Yosemite box had been checked so many times, the map had torn through, leaving a hole that seemed to grow bigger the longer I stared at it. My dad died without having seen Bryce or Haleakala, Mt. Rainier or Arches, Joshua Tree or Glacier, Everglades or Death Valley, or even the Badlands where T-Rexes once roamed. And he died without hearing his son say, “Thanks, dad.” Not once. Not for that. Somehow, I only thanked my mom for Yosemite. In one of those stunningly self-centered blind spots of childhood, I didn’t see what my dad had given up. I didn’t understand that he had traded away every road in America for just one. I’ve been checking national parks off his map ever since. I’m about a third of the way through. If I don’t make it, I’ll leave the map for Chip and hope he finishes the adventure for us all. Thank you, dad. Comments
Media Jean: Now I'm crying.
Chip: Me too.
Johnny: Why does your dad always tell such sad stories?
Chip: Sometimes sad stories are the happiest ones.
Media Jean: I think I'll go and say thank you to my parents right now.
Chip: What for?
Media Jean: Anything. Everything. I don't know. Just THANK YOU.
Johnny: Now that I think about it, I thank my dad all the time. But I never thank my mom. My dad and I act like we're running the world, but mom runs our world.
Media Jean: That goes double for me. For both my parents.
Chip: And it's not just our parents.
Media Jean: What do you mean?
Chip: Well, shouldn't we be thankful for our friends, too?
Media Jean: Does that mean I have to thank Johnny for being Johnny?
Johnny: You should thank me. Hanging around me is like going to business school—for free.
Chip: Media Jean, thanks for being my friend. Thanks for always being there for me. Thanks for making me laugh. Thanks for being braver than I am, for doing things I'm afraid to do, and letting me share in that. You're my best friend.
Media Jean: Wow. Thank you, Chip, for being my best friend. Thanks for helping me see the other guy's point of view, especially when I get carried away. Thanks for showing me that kindness is maybe the most important thing of all. You make the world a better place.
Chip: Johnny, thanks for always being yourself, no matter how much we tease you. Thanks for pushing us to get things done, because otherwise we might spend all our time playing. I'm glad I know someone as different as you.
Media Jean: Same, here, Johnny. Thanks for all of that.
Johnny: Oh, man. I hate this mushy stuff.
Chip: It feels great. Try it.
Johnny: I'd rather not.
Media Jean: Just think of it as practice.
Johnny: Practice?
Media Jean: Sure! When you're a CEO, you'll need to motivate the minions, right?
Johnny: That's true! Great job, I really appreciate you, we couldn't do it without you, yada yada!
Media Jean: Exactly! Why not practice on us?
Johnny: OK. Let's see. Media Jean, the way you think outside the box challenges me to think outside my boxes. Our company needs leaders with independent minds like you. I don't always agree with you, but I want you to know I respect you.
Media Jean: Thank you, Johnny.
Johnny: I'm a natural at this! Chip, you're a geek genius with a heart of gold. That's a rare combination in today's dog-eat-dog world. Thanks to your innovation, our company is more profitable than ever before. We wouldn't be where we are today if not for you.
Chip: Thanks, Johnny. That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me.
Johnny: Did I seem sincere? Did you buy it?
Media Jean: Hook, line and stinker, I mean, sinker.
Johnny: This is going to be easier than I thought! And the best part is, I don't feel a thing! I can say whatever I need to say to drive the lemmings to the sea, and not feel a twang of real emotion. You can't buy this kind of experience. Thanks, guys, really!
Media Jean: Was that last part a real thanks or a CEO thanks?
Johnny: Wow, that really hurt my feelings, Media Jean. Couldn't you tell I was being sincere?
Chip: I could.
Johnny: Then you're a sucker! Ha ha! I'm the Master of Platitudes!
Media Jean: That was rude, even for you!
Johnny: You're right. Sorry. You know how I get carried away sometimes. Sorry, Chip. I really do appreciate you.
Chip: Thanks, Johnny.
Johnny: Pow! The CEO of Cliches strikes again! Ha ha! So long, suckers!
Chip: He just logged off the network.
Media Jean: I didn't want to encourage him, but Master of Platitudes was pretty good.
Chip: Ha ha! CEO of Cliches!
Media Jean: Ha ha! He got us, twice!
Chip: I guess if you're going to really be thankful for someone like Johnny, you have to have a good sense of humor.
Media Jean: You can say that again! 
Comic strip from the series "Employee Handbook"
(Kid, Inc. Volume 1: Look Out, Tomorrow, Here We Come!) Have a thought for Bob? Write to us at [email protected]
This morning I began prepping our Yosemite menu.
Oh, I love cooking outdoors! Nothing wakes you up like bacon sizzling on a Coleman stove. Throw on a few eggs, a thin slice of ham, toast a couple of English muffins in the grease, place a stick of butter just close enough to soften without melting—the memories were so vivid I had to close my eyes. That’s when I heard a small “um” at my elbow. I looked and found Chip leaning on the kitchen table. “Can’t you just taste it?” I asked, knowing the answer. Chip loved camp food as much as I did. But he had something different on his mind. “When we’re in Yosemite, I think we should eat the kinds of food that John Muir ate.” Uh oh. Was Chip getting carried away by Muir’s ecstatic prose? I knew how he felt, but he was messing with my camp menu! “What’d you have in mind?” I asked. “Well,” Chip said, counting off on his fingers, “I was thinking fruits, vegetables, nuts, bread and ...” He searched a moment, then held up his thumb, “grains, like rice and pasta. What do you think?” “I don’t know, son—” “But, Dad, don’t you want us to be like John Muir?” Oh, boy. So, of course I agreed to think about it, to find common ground between my All American menu and Muir’s All Wilderness fare. Later that day, I thought back on my own childhood diet. I grew up in the Golden Age of Frozen Food. Our freezer was stacked with Swanson’s TV Dinners. Pre-heat the oven, pop in the foil-covered tray, and in 35 minutes you were eating. Sure, the chicken legs and Salisbury steaks were a little chewy, the green beans a little mushy, the sweet corn squishy instead of crispy, the mashed potatoes (with that pat of still unmelted butter on top) wasn’t quite mashed, and the tiny dessert tray filled with Apple Pie was really just a dollop of pie filling in a half-baked crust. But it all tasted delicious to us. Why? Because we weren’t just tasting food. We were tasting an idea. We were told the food was healthy (so our bodies were being served) and we were told the food was fast, creating the leisure time we all needed (so our souls were being served as well!) We believed it all, just like our parents’ generation believed the doctors who said cigarettes were good for you. It would appear I have a long history with bad food. Maybe I can use this Yosemite trip to rethink the way I eat. Because let’s face it: I now eat more like Ronald McDonald than John Muir. I’m acting in opposition to my own values, and that’s not the way I want to be remembered by my son. Comments 
Media Jean: That’s great, Chip. Your dad is thinking about healthy food! 
Chip: Yeah. I’m curious to see where he ends up on all that. 
Johnny: I’m happy your dad’s going to lose a few pounds, but what about me?
Media Jean: The Capitalist’s Mantra: What About Me?
Johnny: I’m serious! Doesn’t that sizzling bacon sound good to you?!
Media Jean: My parents are vegan, remember? I don’t eat meat.
Johnny: For a vegan, you sure eat a lot of junk.
Media Jean: That’s because I’m a junk food vegan. I say no to meat and dairy, but I say yes to salt and sugar.
Chip: And fried food.
Media Jean: And processed soy products.
Johnny: All right, already! How about you, Chip? The sizzle and smell of bacon! Butter melting on grease-grilled muffins!
Chip: Sigh. Yeah, I’ll miss all of that. But I really need to get my dad to eat healthier. I think Yosemite and John Muir can help.
Johnny: So we’re going to go all the way to Yosemite to eat, what, berries and nuts?! It’s un-American!
Media Jean: What’re you talking about?
Johnny: Unhealthy, processed, packaged foods were invented and perfected in America! They may be bad for your personal health, but they’re great for our economic health!
Media Jean: You just want your bacon.
Johnny: It’s bigger than that! Billions of dollars are generated every year to manufacture, package, distribute, market and sell bad food!
Media Jean: I think you’re finally cracking up, Johnny.
Johnny: I’m just getting started! We haven’t even discussed the middle and end of the product cycle!
Chip: Middle and end?
Johnny: Bad food creates bad health, which in turn creates a middle-market for supplements, vitamins, diets—you name it! We’re talking Billions with a capital B!
Media Jean: I’m afraid to ask about the end of the product cycle.
Johnny: It’s not pretty, but facts are facts. Bad food creates a massive and perpetual customer base for the healthcare industry.
Media Jean: I still say you just want your bacon.
Johnny: Not just bacon! Bacon in Yosemite! Bacon on a Coleman stove! Waking to bacon and birdsong!
Chip: Ha ha! Bacon and birdsong, that’s funny.
Media Jean: Ha ha! Bacon and Birdsong, a poem by Johnny Green!
Chip: Ha ha!
Media Jean: You add a verse, Johnny.
Chip: Yeah. It was your idea.
Media Jean: Show us the poetry of capitalism.
Johnny: “John Muir feels sad and forsaken
Chip: Haha!
Media Jean: That’s hilarious!
Chip: This is going to be a great trip!
Have a thought for Bob? Write to us at [email protected]
Chip asked if he could bring Media Jean and Johnny on our Yosemite trip. After a selfish moment that any dad will understand, I happily agreed.
The next day I found the three kids reading aloud from my dog-eared copy of The Wild Muir: Twenty-Two of John Muir’s Greatest Adventures by Lee Stetson. I sometimes feel so superfluous as a dad in the digital age. When Chip wants to learn how to do something, his mentor is YouTube. When he wants answers, his go-to guy is Google. When he has something to say, he sends a text. When he wants to talk, he chats. He shares his day on Instagram and forgets to update his own dad. Now Chip and his friends are reading about John Muir. They’re asking to experience Yosemite in person rather than read about it on Wikipedia. Maybe I’m having a positive impact on them after all. I can’t wait. On the first day, we’ll drive through Montana and drop into Idaho. We’ll spend the night, get up early to ride the historic Thunder Mountain train, and spend a couple of hours at Craters of the Moon National Park. Then we’ll push on through to California (with a rest stop in Reno), take Highway 120 into Yosemite Valley, and arrive in time to watch the day’s last golden light lift off of Half Dome. We’ll set up at Housekeeping Camp, make dinner over my trusty Coleman stove, roll out four sleeping bags on two bunk beds, and fall asleep to the melody of quiet campfire conversations in the big hush of the valley. Then we’ll wake with the sun and set out to explore heaven on earth. No computers. No laptops. No tablets. No wi-fi. I’ll carry a cell phone for emergencies, but that’s it. Ten days of face-to-face life and no Facebook. Ten days of birds singing and no tweeting. Ten days of direct experience without a YouTuber to tell you how to feel about it. I’m doing something important for these kids. Maybe I’m not so superfluous after all. Comments
Media Jean: Whoa whoa whoa. We can’t bring our laptops, tablets, and phones?
Chip: I thought you knew that.
Johnny: How am I supposed to keep up with the financial world?
Chip: You’re not. That’s the whole point. To get away.
Johnny: Are you crazy?! I can’t “get away” from my stocks! I have to stay on top of that stuff!
Chip: I think my dad would say this trip is about taking stock of your soul.
Media Jean: How am I supposed to experience Yosemite without my photo app and my journal app. I even downloaded a bunch of Yosemite apps!
Chip: My dad has a camera, and he picked up a notebook for each of us.
Media Jean: But what if I want to learn more about Half Dome or Yosemite Falls or a raven or something? How can I Google anything?
Chip: I tried that argument on my dad. He wants us to experience Half Dome and the Falls and the wildlife. To feel our response to it. To think and wonder about it. He calls it your inner Google.
Johnny: You and your dad’s inner stuff! Inner North Star! Inner Google! I’m a businessman! I live in the outer world!
Chip: Every year my dad and I see more and more people with GameBoys and smartphones. They walk through Yosemite Valley looking down instead of looking up. Do we want to be like that?
Johnny: Well, when you put it that way.
Media Jean: John Muir would be ashamed of us.
Chip: No, he wouldn’t. He’d just encourage us to be bold. Here, I’ll send you the quotes I copied from dad’s book.
Media Jean: Got it. Wow, these are amazing.
Chip: Here’s one of my favorites. “Keep close to Nature’s heart ... and break clear away, once in a while, and climb a mountain or spend a week in the woods. Wash your spirit clean.”
Media Jean: Johnny’s spirit can definitely use a bath.
Johnny: Very funny. This quote sounds like he’s talking to me personally. “I am degenerating into a machine for making money. I am learning nothing in this trivial world of men. I must break away and get out into the mountains to learn the news.” Ouch.
Chip: “Most people are on the world, not in it.”
Media Jean: “The clearest way into the Universe is through a forest wilderness.”
Johnny: “When one tugs at a single thing in nature, he finds it attached to the rest of the world.”
Chip: “Nature is always lovely, invincible, glad, whatever is done and suffered by her creatures. All scars she heals, whether in rocks or water or sky or hearts.”
Media Jean: “In God’s wildness lies the hope of the world.”
Johnny: “One touch of nature makes all the world kin.”
Chip: “Climb the mountains and get their good tidings. Nature’s peace will flow into you as sunshine flows into trees. The winds will blow their own freshness into you, and the storms their energy, while cares will drop off like autumn leaves.”
Media Jean: Wow. I want to feel that.
Johnny: Me too.
Chip: Me, too. So are we with John Muir? He said, “The mountains are calling and I must go.” Do we hear the mountains calling?
Media Jean: Yes!
Chip: Are we going to leave our devices and go?
Johnny: Yes!
Media Jean: The mountains are calling!
Johnny: And we must go!
Chip: That’s the spirit! 
Comic strip from the series "Screen-Free Week"
(Kid, Inc. Volume 2: The Batcave of Childhood) Have a thought for Bob? Write to us at [email protected] |
AuthorHey, I'm Bob, and I hate technology. So why am I blogging? Because I love my son. He upgraded my typewriter to wirelessly post every keystroke online. It makes him happy, so here I am. Archives
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