The year 2076, or whenever I die.
“My Dad was a mystery at times, or at least that was until I looked at the many years of his life on social media waves 1 through 17. What a weirdo! RIP” - my daughter’s future eulogy for me.
50 years from now
Her: Remember when you posted thirty years ago about wanting to forgo cancer treatment in order to save insurance money?
30 years from now
Her: I can’t believe I’m thirty; this is the worst!
Me: Thirty is when I started to live!
Her: All I see are pictures of you eating ice cream.
Me: What do you call living?
19 Years from now
Me: You spent a third of your student loan on drinks and brunch!?
Her: Have you even paid off your student loan yet?
Me: Who wants brunch?
16 Years from now
Me: Is this a joint that I found in your backpack? We need to talk...
Her: Is this a tight fifteen minutes of stand-up about your pot use that I found online?
Me:You thought it was tight? Nice.
14 years from now
Me: No internet for two weeks! Daddy’s been the subject of another public shaming.
10 years from now
Her: Someone online called your grammar terrible.
Me: Your kidding, me right? It good.
4 years from now
Goodnight, sweetheart! Don’t let the bedbugs bite! And don’t Google Daddy! Promise me you will never google Daddy!
Maybe I should curate my online presence.