The Digital Divide

Could Alice find a way to connect with her grandchildren?

ALICE sat in the clear morning light, sipping coffee on the back deck of her Tauranga home.

Tauranga was a laid-back harbourside city in New Zealand’s North Island, the place she had lived all her life.

She ducked her head as a cheeky fantail darted over her chair, changing direction this way and that.

The little bird reminded her of a fearless Māori warrior wielding his taiaha.

At the side of her house, a gentle breeze stirred the weeping branches of the Rimu tree, where four years earlier she’d scattered her husband’s ashes after losing him to a car accident.

In the weeks following Devon’s death, she’d found herself barely able to speak and breathe.

She had been grateful to family and friends who’d brought meals and soft conversation.

These days, she was more at peace with her own company and loved nothing more than to work in the sprawling vegetable gardens of her 1940s weatherboard home.

Before she could pour a second cup of coffee, her phone buzzed with a message from her daughter-in-law in Auckland.

Harrison and Brooke were arriving on the midday bus.

Was she still OK to collect them?

Of course, she texted back. I’m counting down the hours.

A year had passed since she’d last seen her grandchildren and she was looking forward to their visit over the school break.

Fifteen-year-old Harrison was first off the bus, shocking Alice by how much he’d grown.

Behind him came Brooke, dressed in pink from head to toe, as if she’d just stepped off the set of the “Barbie” movie.

Alice enveloped her in a hug, remembering her own fashion sense at fourteen, when all she’d wanted to wear were mini dresses and white gogo boots.

Harrison removed a pair of ear buds and embraced her awkwardly.

“Can we stop at Maccas, Nan?

“Mum gave us snacks for the trip, but I finished them hours ago.”

Alice picked up the backpack he’d dumped on the pavement.

“What, and pass up my home-made soup and scones?

“You used to love that when you were younger.”

A short while later, she placed bowls of pumpkin soup and a plate of warm, buttered scones on the kitchen table.

Harrison sat down, scraping his chair across the scarred linoleum.

His hair flopped over one eye as he pulled out his phone and began to type. Alice cleared her throat. “Perhaps leave the texting until after we’ve eaten, Harrison.

“I want to catch up with your news.”

“There’s nothing much to tell.” He stirred his soup in a lazy circle.

“I’m sure there is. Your mum tells me you’re doing well at school.

“Do you have any ideas about what you’d like to do when you finish?”

“He wants to work in the tech industry,” Brooke chimed in, “but Dad says so do millions of other people.”

The tips of Harrison’s ears turned red.

“I’d be good at it. Dad doesn’t understand.”

He shoved his bowl away and stood.

“Is it OK if I connect my Playstation to your TV, Nan? I just want to chill for a bit.”

Alice gaped at him. “I thought you were hungry!”

“I am, but not for soup.” Grabbing two scones from the Blue Willow plate, he turned and stalked from the room.

Everything inside Alice screamed at her to call him

back, but she’d never interfered with her grandchildren’s discipline before, and this wasn’t the time to start.

Besides, she remembered the advice Devon had given her when their own son – Harrison’s father – had morphed overnight from a sweet, funny boy to a sullen teenager.

“We’ve done the groundwork, Alice. Now let the lad have some space.”

She turned to Brooke, who was mopping her bowl with the last of her scone.

“Is there anything you’d like to do today, dear?”

Brooke got to her feet and began clearing dishes.

“I promised my friend I’d Facetime her when I arrived.

“She wants to know if there were any cute boys on the bus.

“After that, I’ll probably go on Instagram.”

“You have an Instagram account? You’re only fourteen!”

“It’s fine, Nan. All my friends have one.”

Alice wasn’t a complete stranger to technology.

She used a mobile phone and Devon’s old laptop, which came in handy for e-mails, but she hadn’t grown up with the gadgets her grandchildren used and their reliance on them troubled her.

She peered out the window at a scattering of wind-torn clouds.

“Well, if you change your mind, I’ll be out in the garden.

“And I’m making lasagne for dinner. Is that all right?”

“Perfect.” Brooke hung her tea towel over the handle of the oven door. “Especially if there’s ice-cream to follow.”

For the next little while, Alice pottered outside.

She picked two heads of broccoli before the plants went to seed, and an assortment of lettuce leaves for the salad that night.

Returning indoors, she found Harrison sprawled on the sofa, his gaze glued to a video game.

A peek into Brooke’s room revealed her propped on her bed, scrolling through her phone as though everyone else’s life was so much more interesting than hers.

She gave a quiet sigh and retreated to the sanctuary of her kitchen.

How easy it had been to spend time with her grandchildren when a trip to the playground was the highlight of the day.

The lasagne, at least, was a hit.

She suggested a board game to round off the evening but both teenagers retreated to their rooms to catch up on social media.

She left them to it and turned on the television – for company, if nothing else – but the flat screen remained dark.

What on earth?

Ah, Harrison. She marched down the hall to his room.

“The TV’S not working, dear,” she said when he opened the door. “Perhaps you left a cable plugged in.”

Harrison mumbled something unintelligible, raked the hair from his forehead, and followed her out to the living-room.

“Sorry. What do you want to watch?” he asked once he had sorted the issue.

“The news, I suppose. There’s not much else at this time.”

The comment earned her a sideways glance.

“You do realise you have Netflix on here, don’t you?

“You can watch movies and documentaries, that sort of thing.”

Alice bristled.

“I’m quite aware of what Netflix is, but whenever I press the button, nothing happens.”

“Well, you have to sign up for it first, Nan. Didn’t you know that?”

No, Alice didn’t know. Devon had bought the TV only days before he died and, truth be told, she thought she’d done well to get this far.

“Just put on the news for me, Harrison, please. That’s all I want for now.”

Harrison shrugged, located the channel, and silently left the room.

Alice gathered the baby blanket she was knitting for the local women’s refuge.

Her vision blurred for a moment, and she pressed her lips in a tight line.

She’d been so looking forward to her grandchildren’s company, but they didn’t seem to want hers.

Perhaps tomorrow she could coax them out to Yatton Park, with its beautiful waterfall.

Or maybe a hike around the base of the extinct volcano, Mauao, in Mount Maunganui, to take in the ocean views.

She rested the blanket in her lap, remembering the days when her age was hardly a barrier, but those days were gone.

As she sat alone with her knitting, the generation gap felt more like a yawning crevasse.

Breakfast the following morning was every bit as strained as lunch the previous day.

Instead of the stewed apple and muesli Alice laid out, both teenagers opted for toast, and when she offered hot chocolate, they told her they’d rather have coffee.

“I was thinking a walk might be fun this morning.” Alice rubbed her palms together. “Get some fresh air in our lungs.”

Harrison nodded towards the window.

“Not unless we want to get soaked.”

Alice followed his gaze to where a mass of swirling dark clouds hovered in the western sky.

Well, there went that idea. It seemed she was destined to spend at least part of the day stuck inside with two teens who barely spoke to one another, let alone her.

She put the apple back in the fridge and turned to face her grandson.

“You’re not going back on the Playstation again, though, are you, dear?

“Haven’t you got a book to read?”

“A book? Gaming is way more fun, but don’t worry, I’ll leave the TV ready for you this time.”

Alice sucked in a breath. The offhand remarks were wearing thin and made her feel old and foolish.

“You clearly think I’m stupid because I don’t understand how to set up my own TV, but modern technology isn’t second nature to me, you know.”

Harrison put down his phone.

“I never said you were stupid! But if you like, I can help you set up a streaming account.

“Though you will have to pay a fee.”

“That’s not a problem,” Alice replied.

She may not be a tech guru, but she did know how to manage her finances.

Ten minutes later, she found herself sitting beside her grandson, learning to navigate between channels.

Once he’d shown her how easy it was, she wished she’d tried to figure it out sooner.

Not that she wanted to waste her time planted in front of the television, but still, there was no harm in watching something different from time to time. She softened her voice. “Thank you, Harrison. I’m sorry I snapped before.”

“It’s OK, Nan, I’m the one –”

He stopped as a blinding bolt of lightning suddenly lit up the room.

Brooke, sitting opposite, let out a shriek and squeezed her eyes shut.

Outside, rain began to lash against the window and a raw gust of wind hit the side of the house like a freight train.

Seconds later thunder arrived. The shock from the boom was so intense the earth seemed to vibrate.

“It’s all right,” Alice said, as much to herself as anyone. “Thunder can’t hurt us.”

But she jumped when another bright lightning

flare sheeted across the sky and the overhead lights snapped off.

Brooke paled.

“What just happened?” she asked.

“The power’s gone out.” Alice went to her side as another thunderous roar crashed over the roof. “You mustn’t fret, though. The linemen will have us up and running soon.” Harrison snorted. “They’d better. My phone’s almost out of battery.”

“Oh, dear.” Alice tried to hide a smile and failed. “We might have to get those board games out after all.”

But, just as before, the suggestion fell on deaf ears.

After the dishes were done, Brooke and Harrison withdrew to their rooms, only reappearing at lunchtime in search of something to eat.

Despite the wrath of the earlier storm, the afternoon sun shone hard and bright.

The power was still not on. Seizing the opportunity, Alice suggested a barbecue lunch.

She whipped up a salad and was about to take sausages out to the deck when another idea came to mind.

“How would you like to cook these over an open fire instead of the gas grill?”

Harrison’s eyebrows shot up.

“Am I allowed to light it?” “Yes, if you can manage a flint and steel.” Brooke burst out laughing. “We’ve seen people trying to use those on survival programmes.

“We’ll never get lunch if he has to do it that way.”

Her brother scowled at her.

“Like you could manage.” “Tell you what,” Alice said, determined to keep the peace. “Harrison, I’ll teach you how to start a fire using the flint and steel and then I’ll show Brooke another way with a battery and steel wool.”

After collecting bark and tinder from the woodshed, they moved to the brick fire pit out on the lawn.

Alice produced the flint and steel set, a relic from Devon’s boyhood, certain she could feel the guidance of his hand as she demonstrated how to strike the flint at a 45-degree angle across the steel.

Harrison muttered under his breath when it came to his turn but, after several minutes, a small spark ignited the twigs and he beamed with pride.

“Well done!” Alice exclaimed. “Now, Brooke, let me show you how the battery trick works.”

She handed Brooke a piece of steel wool from the kitchen, along with a nine-volt battery.

“First, you stretch out the wool to about six inches long and then rub the contacts over the top.”

Brooke did as she was instructed and in an instant the wool began to glow and burn.

“Wonderful!” Alice cried. “Now blow on it and touch it to your tinder.”

Harrison scuffed his white sneaker on the grass.

“How come she gets the easy one?”

“Because in an emergency, these items may not be around, but a flint and steel can save your life, even if it gets wet.” Alice extended her hand. “Your grandad would want you to have this.”

“Really?” Harrison curled his fingers around the treasure.

Alice met his eyes with a smile.

“Really.”

Brooke added bark and small pieces of wood to the growing fire.

“Do you have any more survival hacks, Nan?”

“A few, from my time in the Girl Guides.

“Let’s cook lunch first and I’ll see what I can remember.”

Harrison and Brooke took turns at rolling the sausages over the grill until they had browned on all sides.

Alice brought over deck chairs, and they ate to the sweet sounds of a native tūī, whose unique dual voice box allowed it to produce tuneful whistles and clicks.

Once they had finished, Alice ran through the importance of finding or building shelter, should they ever get lost in the bush.

She taught them knottying techniques, how to purify water and other ways to start fire.

Then she settled back, secretly delighted by her grandchildren’s attention over the past two hours.

She understood they were growing up with advances she’d never fully come to grips with, but she also hoped her little pearls of wisdom would remain with them, should their need ever arise.

“Hey, look!” Brooke jumped to her feet. “The kitchen lights are back on. We have power!”

Harrison stood, too, clutching his empty plate.

“Can I go on the Playstation, Nan, while I wait for my phone to charge?”

Alice’s breath came shallow in her chest.

So much for thinking she’d made an impression.

“Yes, dear. You run along. I’ll clear this away.”

She sat on the deck with her knitting once she had finished, her stomach knotted like a wet rope.

A brush of wind whispered through the Rimu tree, and she imagined it to be Devon, reminding her to stay calm.

“Mum doesn’t know how to knit.” Brooke came on quiet feet and sat on the cane sofa beside her.

She stroked the pink blanket on Alice’s knee.

“Is it hard to learn?” Alice blinked several times.

“No. Not the basic stitches at least.

“Would you like me to show you?”

“Yes, please. That would be awesome.”

“What are we having for dinner?” Harrison appeared in the doorway; an apple clutched in his hand.

Alice smiled.

“Your mother warned me I’d never fill you up.

“The thing is, we ate the sausages I had out for lunch, so how about macaroni cheese?

“Cool! Can we have it outside by the fire again? I’d like to practise my lighting skills.”

She studied him for a moment. Was there a chance he’d enjoyed their time this afternoon more than he’d let on?

“Of course, dear, if that’s what you’d like.”

He nodded.

“I also want to say how impressed I was at the way you picked up all that technical stuff this morning.

“It’s not your fault there’s no-one to teach you, so any time you get stuck, make sure you call me, OK?”

Alice’s heart turned over. Just that afternoon, she’d feared time had run out to reconnect with her grandchildren.

But there were plenty of valuable lessons still to share, and she intended to spend the rest of the holidays making sure that they did.

She put down her needles.

“You have yourself a deal there, young man.

“But tell me something, where have you learned all these things?”

“I’ve been drawn to technology since I was little, when you and Grandad gave me a book on how computers work.

“Despite what Dad says, I want a career in the industry.”

Warmth flowed through Alice’s body. Devon would have been so proud to hear him say that.

“Don’t you worry about your father,” she said. “I’ll have a word with him.

“In the meantime, if this is truly what you want out of life, then make sure you dream big.”

“Thanks, Nan. I will.” He took a bite of his apple then and shot her a cheeky grin.

“So, can we start making dinner now, please? I’m starving!”