My twentysomething relative, a.k.a. quarrel2000@gripemail.com, was born A.C. (after computers) with a mouse in his hand. I am a bit of a technophobe, viewing computers with trepidation but knowing I must log on if I am to move forward in this fast-changing world.

Our fight was a misunderstanding involving ego, self-esteem, you-hurt-my-feelings, I’m-right-you’re-wrong. The altercation began over the antiquated telephone. We both hung up in a huff. Disturbed that issues were unresolved, I transferred our argument onto the Internet, where our family does almost everything these days, from sending birthday cards to sharing recipes.

We all know that e-mail makes communication immediate, but in the modern e-mail argument, discourse is actually slowed down–with painful consequences. When my first e-mail went unanswered, I wrote a second the next day. No new mail! Then a third, with a plea, “I can’t believe we can’t talk about this. I’ve been crying every night.”

I couldn’t know whether quarrel2000’s lack of response meant he was angrier than I’d imagined. Or was he simply nonplused about my hurt feelings? Or had my e-mail disappeared someplace in cyberspace and not even reached its destination?

And then, I logged on at 12:06 p.m. and there was mail from quarrel2000! My fingers shook as I clicked on read new mail. Quarrel wrote, “This isn’t something to cry over. I don’t even care anymore.” “You don’t care about my hurt feelings?” I typed. send mail. Click.

Eighteen hours later: “I meant I don’t care about whatever it is we were fighting about. I’m over it. You should be too.”

Oh. Misunderstandings and days of delay before clarifications can be heard make these conversations (if I dare to call them that) very unsatisfying. As a writing professor, I’ve often felt optimistic about e-mail because it makes writers out of everyone, renewing our enthusiasm for the moribund written word. But as a family member with hurt feelings, I can’t always read messages with emotional clarity. Not to mention the risk of screen words’ being misinterpreted. Is the writer of this e-mail argument taking on an angry tone? An ironic one? Conciliatory? Only the most highly skilled writers can make these nuances clear.

When arguments occur face to face, we’re more likely to hear each other, sit through silences and think about what’s transpired. I don’t know if quarrel2000 ever read my lengthy e-mails trying to justify my actions and words–he might have said, “Oh, no! Not another angry e-mail from my obstinate relative!” and simply pressed delete.

I’ve watched people’s interpersonal skills steadily decline since the advent of answering machines. Rather than having conversations with each other, we leave one-way messages, never risking retribution. Talk into a recording and you expediently do the job: cancel a dinner reservation, terminate an employee, send a message of condolence after a death. Nobody says “It’s Susan, call me back” anymore. Now it’s “I can’t go out with you Saturday night…” Beep! End of message.

And now, we don’t even fight in person anymore. I can imagine a new dot-com company being launched to sell accouterments to online arguments: written scripts to download into your computer with guarantees to prove your point of view, flower services for making up with your loved one.

Right now, my online argument with Q2000 is in remission. We e-mail each other in polite, concise, guarded messages. Our altercation briefly spread, however, through our family on the Web, as other family members heard about our feud and began sending their own commentaries back and forth to one another. As our disagreement catapulted into a multigenerational group e-mail debate, its original premise became increasingly unclear, even distorted.

As we move farther away from human interaction, I am making a resolution that the next time words between relatives or friends explode in anger, I’m going to demand that, whenever possible, we climb in the ring together and spar it out in person. It might sting, but there’s a prize at the end of the match: we can hear each other say “I’m sorry,” then fall into each other’s arms in a reassuring, forgiving hug.