Ventures into FaceBook

"I can't get my picture to come up on my Facebook page," my mother said grumpily over dinner last night.
"You need a tutorial," my stepfather said.
"Come over tomorrow," I offered, bold with the happiness of inebriation. "I'll teach you."
Less sure of my skills this early am, I dutifully began teaching Mom the ins and outs of Facebook. While we were there, we tackled a few other things, too, like Googling, messaging, and bookmarks. She was excited yet hesitant, much as I must have been years ago when our roles were reversed. Carefully jotting down notes in a small paper notebook, she went through the different options slowly. A mutual friend in a far off city helped, giving her practice in liking posts and responding. "It's like you're there chatting back and forth," she said in amazement.
"Yes," I agreed. "Except that you can chat with many people at the same time, and everyone can see and join the conversation. See, she posted a response to you here, and down here."
"Aren't they the same thing? Why are there two places?"
"Down here is for chatting. She also sent you a reply to your post. All your posts are on your wall."
"What's that red thing?"
"That shows you there's some thing new on your page. It's called a notification."
She rolled here eyes at me, an annoyed expression forming. "This is hard."
"Keep playing with it," I encouraged. "It's not too bad once you get used to it."
By the end of two hours, we'd practiced posting and most all other acts on FB, including finding long lost friends, liking pages, messaging, loading pictures and links, and friending people. Then Mom looked down at her watch.
"That can't be right!" she exclaimed. "I've been here two hours!" Hurrying, she logged off, then packed up all her stuff.
With a quick hug, she was on her way.
As I watched her go, I wondered how long it would be before I was visiting someone younger to get my own tech update, because the world had outpaced my knowledge. Something tells me it won't be the few decades it was for her.