“Friend or Not Friend?”
“Dad, stop being so stubborn! I’m not asking you to join the Ministry of Silly Walks, just ‘Classmates Online’,” Leo had spent the last forty minutes trying to digitise his dad’s existence, tossing him like a little byte-sized fish into the vast ocean of social media. But the man was resisting.
“I don’t need any of it!” His dad clutched his brick of a phone, now on its tenth activation code. “You lot can flop around in your digital ponds all you like—leave me out of it. I’ve got enough bad habits as it is.”
“It’s for talking to people, Dad. You’ll find old schoolmates, army buddies, coworkers.”
“God forbid!” His dad flung the phone out the window in panic—luckily, they were on the ground floor. “Half of them are probably dead already! Plenty of time to chat later.”
“The other half are still kicking! Talk to them. Right now, it’s just me and Tanya—and those scam callers you love so much.”
“And unlike you two, they actually listen! Spent three hours yesterday with ‘Kate from HMRC’—poor girl’s working overtime in some call centre after lights-out. You’ve no idea the struggles!”
“Just give it a week. If you hate it, I’ll drop it.”
“Fine. But you’re coming to the footie with me in May,” his dad bargained.
“I told you, I might be in Brighton for work,” Leo muttered, already outside rummaging through the bushes.
“You said *might*,” his dad called from the window.
“Yeah, *might*. I’ll let you know. Five minutes, I’ll sort this. You’ll be socialising like a normal person.”
Leo returned, phone in hand, and fired up their ancient computer.
“Don’t need the whole world in my business…”
“What was that?”
“Just register me already, you digital pusher.”
Leo’s wife had pushed the ‘Classmates’ idea for ages—her father-in-law had a habit of ringing at all hours for half-hour chats. Let him bore someone else for a change. Plus, maybe he’d stop wandering off. Old blokes were like cats—give ‘em a sniff of freedom and they’d vanish for days. One ‘quick trip for bread’ and suddenly you’re organising search parties.
“You’re talking about *my* dad,” Leo reminded her.
“And I’m using mine as a reference,” she shot back.
The argument always ended there.
“Leo, some stranger’s adding me!” his dad called that evening, panicked.
“Brilliant! Accept it, chat with him.”
“Leo, I’ve never seen this man! How’d he even find me? I’ve not even *been* on this thing! Who just barges into someone’s page uninvited?”
“We filled in your details—school, work, army stuff. Maybe you knew him back then?”
“That was a thousand years ago!”
“Fine, maybe you clubbed mammoths together. Just talk to him. You might like him. Anyway, I’ve got work.”
“Ugh, Leo, you’ve saddled me with a right headache…”
Four days later, another call:
“Leo, can you pick me up from the station?”
“The *station*? What are you doing there this late?” His son checked the clock. His wife’s ‘wandering grandad’ theory was gaining traction.
“Waiting forty minutes for this bloody bus! Suitcase wheel’s busted.”
“Stay put, I’m coming!”
“Wouldn’t dream of leaving—got my personal chauffeur on the way.”
Leo found his dad on a bench, oddly polished—shaved, pressed shirt, new shoes.
“Where’ve you been?” Leo asked, loading the suitcase.
“Seeing Dave Wilkins. Lives in Oxford.”
“You went to *Oxford*? That’s a five-hour trip! Who’s Dave?”
Leo buckled up, then his dad’s seatbelt, and pulled away.
“Mate. From ‘Classmates’…” His dad stared out the window, thoughtful. “Though ‘mate’ might be pushing it. Bloke supports Arsenal. You know how I feel about that lot.”
“Wait—” Leo slowed over a speed bump. “You met him *once* and went to his house?”
“Course! I don’t add just anyone. Need to *know* a man—look him in the eye, see how he votes.”
“Dad, online friends don’t require in-person interrogations. That’s the *point*.”
“Kids these days making *babies* remotely too?”
“What’s that got to do with it?”
“Everything, Leo! I don’t trust a man I haven’t shaken hands with. Full stop.”
“Alright, calm down!” Leo backed off before he scared him back into hermit mode. “But *warn* me next time you vanish.”
“Message received!” His dad mock-saluted, then asked to stop for a new phone—”One with the internet.”
The next call came on a Saturday, mid-work trip:
“Off to Newcastle. Back Monday.”
“Dad, the signal’s rubbish. Did you say *Newcastle*?”
“Signal’s fine. Newcastle it is. Met two lads online—turns out we served in the same regiment, different years. Don’t worry, I’ll Uber from the airport. Got the app now.”
“Dad, you’re mad! Stay home! I’ll take you to the match soon—no more trips!” Leo realised he’d opened Pandora’s box.
“Sorry, Leo, bad signal—we’re boarding. See you at the footie!”
Days later, Leo checked his dad’s profile. *Five* friends now. One local—promising. But ‘Linda Shackleton’ from Aberdeen sent a chill down his spine.
He planned to hide Dad’s passport. Too late—the man had already bolted to Cornwall. They next met two weeks later. Dad was tanned, wearing a hand-stitched shirt, and—most terrifying—sporting a tattoo of his football club.
“Nancy from Leeds did it. Great lass. Met in the ‘Classmates’ woodcarving group. She and her husband are coming Saturday for the match.”
“*Nancy*? *What match*? You were supposed to go with *me*!”
“So come along! Bring the missus. Though she still hasn’t accepted my friend request.”
“I can’t—Brighton—”
“Then why fuss? I’m flying there Monday anyway—met a new bloke. Fancy a coffee? Maybe see the Pier after.”
His dad was *different*. New slang, a gleam in his eye.
“I’m working, not ‘hanging out’. And I don’t know your mates!”
“Neither do I. Might not even like ‘em. Met one yesterday—proper Ministry of Silly Walks material. Their ringleader, I reckon. Oh, and you’ve got *five* friends in Brighton.”
“Seriously?”
Leo scanned his own bloated friends list. He couldn’t name half of them.
“How are you affording all this?”
“Sold the allotment.”
“The *allotment*?” Leo’s vision swam. “You loved that place!”
“*You* loved dumping me there to pick berries while you swanned off. I was bored stiff. If not for ‘Kate from HMRC’, I’d have started growing *myself*. Drop me at her call centre? She got early release for testifying. Want to meet her before she’s out. Won’t stay pals, but it’s polite.”
Leo, queasy, agreed.
That night, scrolling his own ‘friends’ list, a thought nagged: *Who are these people?*
He found a dozen new requests. After an hour, he messaged an old neighbour—unseen in fifteen years:
“Fancy a BBQ? Catch up?”
“Maybe in a few weeks,” came the reply. “I’ll text you.”
“Sure,” Leo typed, thinking, *Some childhood pal.*
Then he spotted a Brighton bloke—no clue who. On a whim, he invited him for coffee.
“Done!” came the instant reply.
Thrilled, Leo rang his dad.
“See? I told you—meet people *properly*!”
“Yeah, yeah… Oh, help me get a passport?”
“*Why?!*” Another chill.
“Some Jack Durian from South Africa added me. Fancy checking him out.”
“Dad! That’s a *scam*!”
“Leo, I won’t judge till I’ve shaken his hand.”
