Our neighbors must think there are some real issues at the Sherrill house as anyone walking past is liable to hear yelling and screaming coming from the two-story brick at the top of the hill.

Domestic problems? Unruly children? Anger issues? Tourette’s?  None of the above. Try Google. Specifically, try Google Home. Yep, an invention to designed make life easier, to give us all the answers, to make it where we don’t have to get up to turn off the lights or even answer the phone has been the source of rage for my 12-year-old son, Henry.

I thought I was being all trendy when I got the Google Home a while back. I actually got it to assist me in my novel writing, using it to get the spelling of words, as a thesaurus and to do research. It was only after I started monkeying around with it that I found it can be used for fun too. Pretty soon I had lights hooked up to it where I could turn them off and on with just a word. I even got my oldest son Jack a Google Mini for his room so I could mess with him from across the house. He has since moved out and got his own apartment. I’m not sure if that was what drove him over the edge to get his own place or not.

Anyway, Henry discovered the usefulness of the Google Home when it comes to accessing his videos and shows on tv. The device allows you to simply say “Hey Google” and then tell it what you want to watch. It’s a great idea – in theory. However, when you add a hyperactive and impatient pre-teen to the mix, well, you’ve got a recipe for hilarity.

“Okay Google, play Slendytubbie, episode three, Billy Joe’s version, blue versus green from Sheboygan on MyTV,” he burst out, the long list of directions making even my head spin.

A pause followed his orders. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” the pleasant woman’s voice responded from the Google speaker.

My son let out a frustrated growl before he repeated the instructions. However, much like you have to say “Simon Says” in the game by the same name, you have to say “Hey Google” before you give it directions. Getting no response, he growls again and shouts, “Hey Google” followed by something along the lines “you dumb machine, why can’t you understand what I’m saying?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” the lady on the speaker responded, sending Henry into a frenzy.

“I didn’t ask you yet, Google!” he yelled, the key word again activing the speaker. “Why can’t she understand what I’m saying?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” she said again, this time sending Henry storming off in a huff.

He marched back in the room, red-faced a minutes later. “Why doesn’t she understand what I’m saying?” Henry asked me.

“Well, given the fact I don’t even understand what you’re saying, I don’t blame her,” I replied. “Plus, there’s not a real person in the box, you know.”

Henry hesitates for a moment, taking in the revelation, his eyes going side to side. “Hey Google, play Slendytubbie, episode three, Billy Joe’s version, blue versus green from Sheboygan on MyTV.”

Again silence ensued. I readied for the next tantrum. “Okay, playing Slendytubbie, episode three, Billy Joe’s version, blue versus green from Sheboygan on MyTV,” she calmly replied.”

I guess it’s all in the way you ask.

Contact Duane Sherrill at news@smithvillereview.com