My Love/Hate Relationship with Skype

There’s a stereotype rampant with the techno-savvy generations behind baby boomers that our generation is techno-stupid. Case in point, when I purchased my laptop two years ago, I signed up for a year of tutoring at the Apple store. Though the information was solid and helpful, the teaching style was somewhat condescending. Almost every tutor I was assigned spoke in that slightly raised voice one uses when talking to children. “Okay, now you try it. That’s right, very good. See you can do it. It wasn’t that hard.” My encounters reminded me of that SNL skit a few years ago where the grandkids have to keep reassuring grandpa that what he’s seeing on the TV isn’t real.

That said—this blog isn’t about my techno problems with Skype. It’s about my emotional problems with the Internet telephony that enables you to see the person you’re talking to via the computer. Up until my son was awarded a Fulbright to teach in Manila for five months, Skype had no relevance in my life. I knew about it in the vague way you know about a country you have no intention of visiting. But once my son left, I reluctantly became a Skyper.

What I love about Skype is obvious. Once a week I’m able to talk to my son, hear his voice, watch the play of expressions on his face, know through two of my senses that in another time zone, in a place thousands and thousands of miles away, he’s there.

What I hate about Skype is equally obvious. He gets to experience the same thing. There’s no hiding when you Skype. Believe me I’ve tried. Sitting in the darkest part of the room, which elicits from my son the complaint that he can’t see me. Duh, that’s the idea. And to make matters worse, with Skype you not only see the person you’re Skyping, but you see yourself as well. Tucked in a corner of the screen is your own image.

So, lately I’ve been putting on makeup before we Skype at 8:30 a.m. Chicago time, which is 10:30 p.m. in Manila. My son deserves to see his mother looking her best. And I deserve to see myself at my best. Unless you’re a total narcissist, you can’t help being self-conscious with that tiny version of yourself staring back at you.

Here’s the other thing I hate about Skype. When my husband and I Skype my son, we’re robbed of one of our parental tools--hand gestures, which have kept us on the same parental page through many a phone call with our son over the years. With Skype there’s no way to signal each other when we’ve strayed into dangerous territory. No slicing hand over the throat, indicating change the topic now. No shaking the head no, which means don’t say anymore, you’re really stepping in it. Or my favorite—no dramatic shrugging of the shoulders and shaking of the head, meaning what are you doing! And all the other gestures we’ve perfected. So we do a lot of nudging each other under the table careful to keep our expressions neutral.

But the worst part of Skyping is when I hear the swishing sound which means the computer is ready to Skype, and I click on the call button, listen to it ring, then see the message: User not on line. Has my son gone to bed? Is he okay? What’s going on?

For me, Skyping is a too vivid reminder of absence and presence, which my emotional self has yet to process. What’s your experience with Skype?