You navigate through the series of menus and panels to get to the well-hidden, disabled drop-in option.

Your dad thought that the new cell phone towers were tracking him.

You can only imagine what he would think if he found out that his kids were spying on him through a camera in the ceiling.

You go back to the main page where you can toggle through a growing list of information.

Some of it is basic medical stuff, height, weight, medications.

Other stuff is more detailed.

There's a running, heart rate, and blood pressure meter, which means they've outfitted him with some kind of wearable device.

You can see steps, ticking up.

Must be walking around right now.

There's a tab for nutrition.

Calories consumed, time of day, type of food, nutritional value.

There's also a tab called social, where over the next few weeks you watch your dad's calendar slowly fill up.

Book clubs, movie nights, lunches with new friends.

You can even read a transcript of each conversation and a detailed breakdown of how many words he said,

the complexity of those words and how balanced the conversation was.

One afternoon he got into an argument with a robot about whether it was playing the version of the rush song that he asked for.

Then there was the time he tried to flirt with another resident.

It did not go well.

You try not to read these transcripts too often, but it's hard to resist.

They give a picture of your dad that you've never seen before.

The way he talks to people when you're not around.

Then one morning, after dad has spent nine months at Vanguard Estates,

...