The next Saturday, I accompanied him to the big blue-and-yellow store. The Dynex display was on the bottom shelf, next to the generic surge protectors and the last-generation DVD-Rs. The box was simple: a clear plastic clamshell revealing the camera itself—a glossy, piano-black orb about the size of a golf ball, perched on a silver, foldable clip. The brand, Dynex, was Best Buy’s house label. It wasn't Logitech. It wasn't Creative Labs. It was the no-name brand for people who needed a solution, not a status symbol.
The distance was only 120 miles, but to my mother, it might as well have been the far side of the moon. The nightly phone calls were expensive, the e-mails too cold. "I need to see her," my mother declared one Tuesday evening, brandishing a Sunday circular from Best Buy. "They have these… camera things." dynex pc camera
That was until Megan, my older sister, went to college. The next Saturday, I accompanied him to the
For the next two years, the Dynex became the family hearth. Every Sunday at 7 PM, my mother would clip the little black frog onto the top of the Dell’s monitor, angle it down at her face, and press "Call." The camera saw everything: my father’s jokes about the weather, my own surly teenage silences, the family cat jumping onto the keyboard. It saw my mother’s worried frown lines and the way she’d mouth "I love you" after hanging up. The brand, Dynex, was Best Buy’s house label