After Flynn was born 13 months ago, I wrote a post about how Skype was helping close the gap between a grandson and grandma who live on different continents. It was one of the few times that I found myself fully embracing new technology. I have no use for Twitter, and my texts remain limited to one word answers because I've never upgraded to a phone with a keyboard.
But Skype? Well, count me a convert. For most of that first year, I was able to watch Flynn scoot, roll over, and sit and play with toys without ever having to change a diaper. I saw bubbles and first teeth and smiles, and I heard babblings in real time. I felt like we were getting to know each other despite an ocean of separation--even though I harboured a few duobts about how our virtual playdates would translate to real life.
But that was all before I got the walker. And, no, I'm not talking about a walker that helps me navigate across the living room and into my desk chair. I'm not there yet. I'm talking about a grandson who went through the stages of rolling and sitting and crawling and, in the natural order of things, arrived at walking.
I saw some of those first steps on Skype. Tentative movements that took him from leaning against a table or a chair or dad's chest and into mom's outstretched arms in two or three wobbly steps. Really more like lunges, but I cheered for him anyway. I encouraged him as those two or three steps became four and five, then six or seven. I clapped as I watched all tentativeness fall away.
And now as we skype, I watch him walk with confidence. Even run. Unfortunately, it's almost always right out of the picture.
It seems that with his new independence, he's gotten a little bored with flat grandma.
There's a toy on the other side of the room that's calling. There are drawers to open in the kitchen. There's a dog to chase. There's a ball pit to dive into. And then there's grandma on Skype, trying hard to turn his disappearance into a virtual game of hide and seek.
"Where's Flynn?'' I repeat, hoping he'll come back into camera range, but simultaneously thinking that my year of Skype is some sort of fast forward microcosm of life, where our kids grow up, gain independence, and walk out of our own pictures.
Occassionally my calls work and Flynn leans around a door frame, grinning, or walks back in from stage left. More often he doesn't. He's off and moving.
I think the day may come when he'll be interested in sitting down and letting me read him a book over Skype. Maybe we can even play some virtual games. Or he can complain to me when mom and dad won't buy him a skateboard or let him stay up late to watch a movie. I'll listen.
Until then, it's okay. I'll always have his back.
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