16“This is how you turn it on,” I said and pushed a button on the keyboard. My father sat in his chair with wide eyes, that is, as wide as he could open them given their saggy countenance. I heard the familiar ding as the motor began to whir and the monitor flashed awake.
“Not much is happening,” he grumbled.
“Be patient,” I advised, not one of his virtues. “It takes a while to warm up, to boot up that is.”
“Okay. If you say so.”
I think he hated being subservient in any way and in particular, subservient to me as we sat in front of his gleaming $3000 Macintosh computer. He'd gone for the top of the line reasoning that someone, not him necessarily, would get good use out of it. Catherine's daughter or even Sean and Nathan, although they already had their own computers at home. Who know
