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Dear Son, Hey Ma

Dear Son, Hey Ma

Автором Michael Grant

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Dear Son, Hey Ma

Автором Michael Grant

Длина:
79 pages
48 minutes
Издатель:
Издано:
Jul 22, 2011
ISBN:
9781465750631
Формат:
Книге

Описание

When it comes to interpersonal communications, Cool Hand Luke said it best: "What we've got here is a failure to communicate."
And that statement was never truer than it is for the two characters in Dear Son, Hey Ma.
Even in the best of times, meaningful dialogue between a mother and son can be difficult or even nonexistent. But in the age of Facebook, Twitter and cell phone texting, personal communication doesn't stand a chance.
Or does it?
Dear Son, Hey Ma is a humorous, and sometimes poignant, attempt by a mother and son to communicate via emails.

Издатель:
Издано:
Jul 22, 2011
ISBN:
9781465750631
Формат:
Книге

Об авторе

Michael Grant, author of the Gone series, the Messenger of Fear series, the Magnificent Twelve series, and the Front Lines trilogy, has spent much of his life on the move. Raised in a military family, he attended ten schools in five states, as well as three schools in France. Even as an adult he kept moving, and in fact he became a writer in part because it was one of the few jobs that wouldn’t tie him down. His fondest dream is to spend a year circumnavigating the globe and visiting every continent. Yes, even Antarctica. He lives in California with his wife, Katherine Applegate, with whom he cowrote the wildly popular Animorphs series. You can visit him online at www.themichaelgrant.com and follow him on Twitter @MichaelGrantBks.

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Dear Son, Hey Ma - Michael Grant

Dear Son, Hey Ma

(A Dialogue of Sorts)

by Michael Grant

Copyright 2011 Michael Grant

Smashwords Edition

DEDICATION

To all mothers, fathers, sons and daughters who try to talk to each other.

Chapter One

In The Beginning...

DEAR SON,

HELLO FREDRICK. ARE YOU THERE? THIS IS YOUR MOTHER. HELLO!!!

AS YOU CAN SEE, THE MAN DELIVERED THE MESHUGENEH COMPUTER AND SHOWED ME HOW TO DO THE EMAIL THING.

I'M ALL FAHKLUMPT. I DON’T KNOW IF I’M WRITING TO YOU, OR TO MYSELF, OR TO SOME STRANGE PERSON IN CYBERPLACE.

IF YOU DON’T GET THIS MESSAGE CALL ME.

YOUR LOVING,

MOTHER

~~~~~~

Hey Ma,

Don’t use capitals. In e-maileze it means you’re shouting.

And it’s cyberspace not cyberplace. So, you’re finally online. That wasn’t so painful, was it?

Gotta go. Just got a call from the doorman. They towed my car again. What’s with these guys? That’s the third time this month.

Ric

~~~~~~

DEAR SON,

I’M THE ONLY WOMAN... Oh, excuse me, I didn’t mean to shout. I’m the only woman in the condo whose son bought his mother a computer. It makes me so proud. Mrs. Banks 14G says you did it so you wouldn’t have to talk to me on the telephone. I pay no attention to her. She’s just jealous that she doesn’t have a computer.

On the other hand, that means that her son has to call her. To tell you the truth, that makes me a little jealous. I’d rather hear your voice than read your messages on this meshugeneh machine.

I’ll never be a computer greek.

P.S. You're just like your father. You never look where you park. Read the signs already.

Your loving,

Mother

~~~~~~

Hey Ma,

It’s geek, not greek. I’m sending you a book, Internet for Imbeciles. In no time at all you’ll be surfing the net with the best of them.

When I think you're ready, I'll introduce you to Facebook and Twitter.

Gotta go ransom my car. Those goniffs charge me $300 bucks every time I walk through the door. You’d think they’d give me a volume discount or something.

Ric

~~~~~~

Dear Son,

Please! No Tweeter or Facebook stuff for me. I'm having a hard enough time with this email computer stuff already. Your father always called me a Luddite. I think he was right.

I don't understand the young people today. I go to the mall and every single young person is walking and tweeting, walking and texting, or walking and talking on the cell phone. How, I wonder, do they ever buy anything? They look at nothing but their little phone screens.

Last winter, Mrs. Banks' twenty-year-old niece came to visit her for a week. Mrs. Banks says her niece said a total of nineteen words to her. (She counted.) All the rest of the time it was tweet, tweet, text, text. Of course she took time out to sleep and eat.

Why are you always in such a big hurry? The least you could do is type more words. That imbecile book you sent is too hard for an imbecile. I tried to read it, but it’s all Greek to me. And that’s the right word!

When are you coming down to see me? I fixed up the guestroom. I even hung up your old banner from Stanford and the signed autograph you got from that Lucius Taylor when you were in high school.

Remember all the trouble your father (God rest his soul) went through to get that autograph? First he had to bribe two guards to get you and him into the stadium where the team was practicing, then he inadvertently wandered onto the track and was trampled by a herd of three hundred pound men.

He thought he’d

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