Grandchildren Arrive. A Medusa's Head of Wires Soon Follows. - New York Times

There is, of course, the first law for grandparents with computers: When the grandchildren come over, they will do something to your electronic gadgets that will render them forever quirky.

I am hardly a computer novice. As a sportswriter for The New York Times, I had the distinction of sending in the paper’s very first article by computer, back in 1974.

But now I get bamboozled and frazzled by my grandchildren when they visit: Invariably, they have messed up my computer, my iPad, my iPhone and my iPod.

Just a few weeks ago, 15-year-old Corey asked to use my cellphone. Perhaps I should have asked where his was (lost, once again, I later found out). After he left, I was surprised that I wasn’t receiving calls on it. Well, yes I was. Somehow he had turned off the volume.

I got that settled â€" all I had to do was push one tiny button. But then I began getting texts from what I discerned to be teenage girls, looking for that heartthrob Corey â€" and followed them up with Facebook postings.

Of course, we want the grandchildren to visit. In fact, we want them desperately, since two of them live in London and two of them live in Florida. But within hours of their arrival, the apartment looks like a Medusa’s head of wires. They use so many outlets that I have to move the couch in the den so we can reach the one hidden behind it. Then I wind up with songs on my iPod by people named Miley Cyrus and Justin Bieber, vying with Frank Sinatra and Eddie Fisher.

Of course, I’m guilty of some egregious computer mischief myself â€" I sailed into unfamiliar waters when I wanted to learn more about a young woman my son Mike was dating. So I Facebooked her â€" and then discovered I had inadvertently plastered her name all over the ether. I had misused an item called “status update,” and so whenever anyone looked me up, her name was joined with mine. That brought intense laughter from a grandson and a “You did what?” from my son.

I spent the next hour chasing my name and her name all over the place, trying to untangle them, until I had erased my incriminating search. I was sure I’d be tabbed an online stalker.

But no, I’m just a grandpa happy to be able to press a “send” button without creating a family incident. Since my grandchildren haven’t been here for a few weeks, I’m going to take a chance this works. Here goes.