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First Lessons, Frustrations, & Funny Stuff – Introducing the iPad To My Mum

<< Introducing I.T. to an Elderly Relative
<<<< Preparing the device

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So, you are are helping an elderly relative or someone else who knows nothing at all about keyboards, icons, internet, or web browsing to get going with I.T. You have set up the device for them, now you need to introduce them to it. This is where it gets… interesting.

As I describe in earlier posts, I bought an iPad for my mum and set it up in a nice, simple way for her. I knew there was nothing she could do to actually break the iPad, it would just be a little confusing and possibly quite a frustrating process showing her how to use it. I was wrong. On all counts.

To do this I drove up to see my mum for the day, taking along the current Mrs Widlake for emotional support. Having arrived and set up the new router we had got from British Telecom (that’s a whole other story of woe) I sat Mum down and showed her the iPad, the on/off button, the volume buttons and the Home button. I got her to turn the device off and on, I pulled up some things on the internet to show her videos & music and got her to turn the volume up and down, and showed her how you touch the screen to do things. I told Mum about plugging it in and the icon that shows how much charge it has. All was going OK. I showed her the keyboard…

“Ohh, that’s complex!” No it’s not, there is one key per letter and some special keys. “Why can’t it have 9 numbered buttons and you just press 3 twice for H?” Because it is not 1995 anymore and this is much easier. I open Messenger for her, start a conversation to me and get her to type, yes you guessed it, ‘Hello World’. “I can’t find the ‘L'”. That’s OK, just take your time…

Mum is punching her finger on the screen as if she is killing cockroaches. You just need to tap it mother “I am!”. More softly (bash bash bash). No, gently (bash bash). If I poked your cat that hard she’d bite me, imagine you are touching the cat (bash bash bash). Mum, the screen is glass – if you hit it like that it will break and cut your finger off! That worked.. sort of (thud thud thud). 2 minutes and liberal use of the delete key later (her aim is poor) we get ‘Hello World’. Great! Well, you are sending the message to me, look that’s my name and a little picture of me! Say ‘Hello Martin’ – “Hello Martin” says Mum. Nooo, type it. “Where’s the L key?” Same place as before, just take your time…

When Mum is looking for a key she hovers her finger over the keyboard, waves it over one area, goes to another area and waves it over that – and then back to the first area… and repeats. Half of the keyboard has some sort of exclusion field around it. Mum, just look along each row until you find the letter you want. “I was!” No, you looked there and then there, 3 times. Trust me, just work along each row. She does.. “There it is! I knew it was there!”. Hmmm

After about 10 minutes of this random messaging (it felt like an hour but my wife, sniggering on the sofa, said it was 10 minutes) I get Mum to practice logging into the device. This, after all, is a vital step.

I tell her the password is my name. I decided on my name as she (probably) won’t forget it and it is more secure than a number that she will remember. “With a Y or an I?” Huh? “Martin with a Y or an I?” What did you name me? “Martin”. With a Y or an I? “Well, an I of course.” Well it’s with a bloody I then! “Some people spell it different…”. Why would I set your password to my name but spelt the wrong way? It’s an I you silly old Moo. (yes, it’s getting to me).

She types Marti.. “There is no N key”. It’s there. “Oh yes”. I tell her to press DONE. She does, the home screen comes on. I get her to turn it off and put in her password again. “What is my password?” Martin. “I just typed that”. Yes, we are practising. “OK – (thud thud thud… thud….)”. The N key is there, Mum (thud). And DONE… (thud) “I’m in!”. Excellent. Now do it again so you have done it without any help.

(thud thud thud….thud…..) “The N key has gone!” – It’s…  {breathes a little…} there! “Oh yes! I knew that!” But she does press DONE on her own.

Now do it again. “Why?” Because I need to know you can do it easily. (thud thud…thud thud…….) “Where…” It’s there! There! THERE!!! You’ve pressed it 4 times in the last 2 minutes, it’s ALWAYS there, it does not bloody move!!! IT’S THERE!!!! I can feel veins throbbing at my temples…

Sue pipes up “Shall I make us all a cup of tea and we can go look at the fish in the pond?” She’s a saint.

After a break and some calming down, we go through it all again (with fewer issues and less swearing) and I show Mum ‘Messenger’ again and how she can communicate with me. I show her how to type a message and send it and how to call me and we do a few trials and she seems OK with that. She keeps forgetting to press the plane icon “why is it a blue arrow?” It’s like a plane, you send the message. “It looks like an arrow”. OK, it’s an arrow, you are firing the message to me wherever I am. “How does it know where you are?” Magic Pixies.

By now we are both getting really annoyed with each other but she can turn the device on, log in, use the keyboard (well, sort of) and she can message me. That is enough for day one – and I need alcohol in a way that is slightly worrying.

We drive home and later that evening we get a message off my mum. It’s almost indecipherable as she has forgotten where the delete key is, and she does not seem to understand that she can check what she has typed, but it’s sort-of a success. I started to reply about where the delete key is, but something in my head steps in and quietly suggests to me that remote support for my confused mother after all the wine I consumed is probably a poor idea. I send a brief “we got home” message – and a picture of a cat.

Next day she calls me on Messenger. Hi Mum, how are you? “{small scream} – is that you, Martin?” Yes, you called me. “No I didn’t!” Err, yes you did. “I didn’t, I sent you a message”. Did you press the blue arrow. “Yes!”. The one next to the text you typed “No, the one at the top of the screen”…. At the top of the screen?… Does it look a bit like a telephone? “Yes!” That would be the telephone then. “Oh! How do I send this message?” After I end the call mother, press the blue arrow. 30 seconds later my phone rings. Hi Mum… “(smaller scream) – it did it again!” So, why do you think it did it again? “I pressed the wrong key?” Yes.

Over the next few hours I get a few messages (no more calls) and slowly the random strings slowly become things I can understand. We are getting there.

Next day she calls me on Messenger… Hi Mum? “{small scream…}”  We repeat the previous day. Typing is better.

Next day, no call, no messages.

Next day, no call, no messages.

Next day, the phone (real phone) goes “I’ve broken it, it won’t work!” Hello Mum. OK, what is broken. “It’s broken, it won’t let me in! It won’t accept my password”. OK pick up the device tell me what you are doing… We work through it, she is entering the password (with an I not a Y, I checked) and “it’s not working” is actually she is getting a message saying the device is disabled. I ask Mum if maybe, perhaps, she got the password wrong a few times and it asked her to wait 5 minutes before trying again? “No, I got my password right – but it would not let me in and after a few times it said that!”. OK… So, leave it alone for an hour and try again. “I did that yesterday!” I’m getting a bad feeling about this… ” And after I tried it, it told me to wait again… and it still could not remember my password and then I left it all day and now it says it’s disabled and needs to be plugged in. I plugged it in!”

I explain that she has actually done the one thing that can brick(*) an iPad. She has repeatedly got the password wrong enough times and persistently enough to cause it to believe it is stolen. It is useless to her. It needs to be plugged into a computer and reset. *sigh*. I asked her why she did not call me when “it forgot her password”. She did not want to bother me…

So now I had to organise a day to drive over there, factory reset the damned thing, and set it up again. And I was going to change her password to a simple number.

It had not been a little confusing, it had been utterly baffling.  I had not found it quite frustrating, I had been turned into a swearing lunatic. And she had indeed broken the iPad.

I rang my Brother. I told him the inheritance is all his – I am adopted.

(*) Brick – turn an electronic device into something as responsive and useful as a house brick.